


How To Say I Love You

by SilentNorth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Alternating Point of View, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'll try to post warnings before chapters, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musicians, Past Amputation, Past violence mentioned, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pretty Setter Squad, Prosthetics, Slow Burn, Some dark themes, Violet Evergarden inspired, Writers, side daisuga, side kagehina, side ukatake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentNorth/pseuds/SilentNorth
Summary: These letters are what connect us, but I have no words to fill them with. All I want to know is, when things are okay again, and I reach out my hand, will you still take it?-After the war leaves him haunted and scarred, Keiji looks for a way to reclaim life. Atsumu has run away from home in hopes of starting over. Oikawa tries to let go of the anger in his heart. After all, the three of them are the lucky ones. Maybe writing letters for those who can't will help them find the words they need to say.They might all think it's best to forget the past, but sometimes facing it head on is the only way forward.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

The last time someone had held his hand had been years ago, during winter solstice and the week of festivities surrounding the holiday. It was bitter cold during the longest night, but cold never seemed to intrude upon good memories. Bokuto’s hand had been warm. He had lost his gloves at some point during that week, and Keiji hadn’t any to begin with.

There was no conversation that stood out from that night, no solid memory for him to hold onto now, just the swirling colors and the bright music and Bokuto’s hand holding his that played over and over in his mind so nauseatingly fast that he couldn’t tell if it was the pain or those memories that made him feel so sick. But it was that memory that stalked his dreams and every waking moment his eyes were closed.

Later, he blamed it on the fever, that his mind was desperately holding onto something it couldn’t have, a memory that was so far in the past. Or it was unwilling to accept reality.

Reality seemed so fuzzy those days anyway.

The fighting ended in June, though the war wasn’t officially over. That was what the nuns told him in the beginning of July and that was all they told him. It was a doctor that had come—it must’ve been the end of June—who told him his arms were gone. Both arms, just above the elbow.

No one could tell him how he had lost them—even Keiji’s memory failed to fill in the blanks—but he had been in that last battle. The same battle where they had suffered heavy casualties to ensure victory. The same battle that had, so far, kept anything more than slight skirmishes from breaking out.

It was then that Keiji realized he was no longer surrounded by soldiers. This was a civilian doctor, civilian nuns, and beyond his rehabilitation and meals, they left him alone.

Keiji slept most of July away. It was better than the pain his hands gave him.

They were the newest models of prosthetics. The metal was lightweight, equaling the weight of a normal arms—ones put together with bone and muscle, blood vessels and skin. It eased the strain on his joints. The fingers opened and closed to his will, even wiggled delicately in front of his face after a few weeks of practice. The elbows bent smoothly, lifting them was no trouble after his wounds had healed.

But it was more like his flesh had been torn off, revealing a shiny metal skeleton underneath. Though his nerves were attached, allowing movement with fancy new science he didn’t understand, the metal itself was numb.

His prosthetics could not feel the scratchiness of the sheets or the warmth of the first mug he was given to hold before it slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor. Though they were resistant to rust, they could not test the temperature of his bathwater. They did not feel the breeze or the rain or the sun when he was allowed outside on the first day of August. He could only feel the warmth that sunk into them from where the metal connected to his skin or when he pressed the hard palms against his cheeks after holding them out to collect sunlight. Though they were too smooth and mechanical, if he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were flesh and bone.

It was the beginning of August that he requested pen and paper.

Over the course of the past four years, Keiji had written many letters. He wrote them in the mess hall at training. He wrote them when they traveled on endless train rides across the country. He wrote them in the rain, in the mud, fingers almost too numb to hold the pencil. He wrote them during long, sleepless nights in the dark, his hands remembering the shapes of the words he wished to write, no candle needed.

Not a single one of those letters had been sent, of course. They were written and then quickly they were lost, destroyed by the rain or torn from his hands by the wind. They went undelivered, lost to the countryside.

Maybe it was because this was the first letter he intended to send that Keiji couldn’t think of the right words. The others never had a chance. There was never an easy way to send a letter home during the war. The post was for the important letters, the ones that held commands and orders and crucial information. There was no time to pause for one soldier’s scribbled thoughts, no time to figure out one address among millions that might not even exist anymore.

Cities were bombed in the night and disappeared. There was no telling where a letter might end up. And plenty of the soldiers couldn’t read or write.

There was no time to get final thoughts or goodbyes to paper and, for most, there was nowhere for them to go.

Now, there was one person out there he hoped might still receive a letter, if only he knew the right things to say.

Keiji was sure he _had_ to be out there. He was unsure about so many other things that he couldn’t allow himself to think that Bokuto wasn’t still somewhere in the world.

His first attempts were covered in pen scratches and spilt ink. The pen continued to slip from his fingers. By midmorning, the nuns wrapped his hands in bandages, hoping the coarse material would better his grip.

After lunch, he was able to form letters, though they were sloppy and illegible. His hands were shaky. Only practice could fix that. Too many become crumpled balls of parchment littering the floor, covered in his shaky letters.

It took him most of the afternoon for his first draft.

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_I wanted to write to you so you wouldn’t worry. Though the war is over, I have not returned home because I am recovering. I received a letter at the start of the year, so I know that my parents are gone now, and there is really no home for me to come back to, but I wanted you to know that I will still—_

That was no good. He should keep it brief. The sooner Bokuto got the letter, the sooner he’d know that Keiji was alright. He didn’t need to bring up his parents’ deaths—the only news of the outside world he’d received in those four years—Bokuto probably already knew. If enemy bombs had destroyed Keiji’s childhood home, then countless others in the village would have been affected as well. No need to rip off the scab of that one. Bokuto was fine. Keiji just needed to find a more lighthearted way to tell him that he’d see him again.

He brushed the page to the floor and started over.

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_I will be home soon—_

Lying wouldn’t work either. Keiji didn’t know that for sure.

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_I was injured and lost my arms. It’s alright because I have prosthetics—_

Pitiful. Keiji bit down on the inside of his cheek.

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_I’m fine—_

No.

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_No need to worry—_

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

_Dear Bokuto-san—_

The pen snapped between his fingers, spilling ink all over the remaining parchment along with the writing board. It dripped onto his bedding and stained the bandages.

He watched the two pieces of his pen roll to the ground and then still.

His inability to hold a pen aside, why weren’t the words coming? All he had to do was tell Bokuto he was alright. He had survived. He would be coming home soon, or something along those lines. Really, it was whatever they decided to do with him once he was declared fully mended, but—

Soaked, the bandages around his fingers lost their hold, revealing the shiny metal beneath.

He would never be fully mended, that was just the way things were. The sooner he accepted that, the better. He would be released back into the real world once he was deemed good enough to pretend that he was the same boy who’d left all those years ago, the sweet memory of winter solstice still fresh, his hand still remembering how it felt to hold another.

And now, at twenty-two, he’d have to figure out how to enter the world he’d never truly been a part of before.

* * *

It was a week later that the monotony of the past three months finally broke.

Keiji was outside that day. The scenery around the nunnery wasn’t much to look at, just fields and fields in every direction he looked with one dirt road cutting through it all, extending in both directions.

He stood with only bare feet in the cold, dewy grass. In passing, the nuns told him he’d catch a cold but didn’t force him to wear shoes. It allowed him to feel what his hands could not, the wind rustling the blades of grass, tickling the tops of his feet, the cool earth that bunched under his curled toes, the dew evaporating as the sun warmed in late morning.

He wasn’t allowed out much—the summer had been so hot, and now that they were at the end of it, it only seemed to grow hotter—so he took the opportunities when they presented themselves.

It was that day that he caught the glint of sunlight in his eye, the first time sun struck metal without it being from his hands.

The car drove slowly down the dirt road. It seemed to take forever before it was turning into the nunnery’s front lawn.

The figure that eventually stepped out was tall and imposing, but a closer inspection made it look like he was rolling out of bed with bedhead instead of standing there, hand raised to block the sun, slacks pressed, the top of button undone of his white dress shirt.

Everything about him there was out of place but then so was Keiji’s recognition. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see a familiar face again.

He crossed the lawn to greet him, drawing his attention for the first time.

“Kuroo-san,” he said, and instinct had him straightening his shoulders, standing tall and at attention for the first time since that last night before his last battle.

Kuroo’s smile stretched across his lips easily, almost lazy. “Akaashi,” he said. “I thought you’d still be in bed recovering.”

Keiji held up his hand. Starch white bandages covered both arms down to each fingertip, though he hadn’t written a word since a week ago. “I’ve recovered for the most part,” he told Kuroo. He wasn’t nearly as shaky as those first few weeks and the injuries above his elbows weren’t nearly as severe. He might never be able to hold a pen, or write the fancy letters he had practiced in school, but most other tasks were no problem now.

“That’s why I’m here,” Kuroo said. “It’s time to go.”

 _Time to go_ , that really didn’t make any sense to Keiji. Go where? He had nowhere to return to. No house, no assurance that someone was waiting for him somewhere.

Kuroo must have seen his hesitance. He was one of the few people who knew about his parents. “Don’t worry. We’re going to a place I know,” he said. “You can think of it as home or a place to continue healing while you figure out what’s next.”

There was really no decision to make, though both of those options seemed completely out of his depth. But Keiji did know he could trust Kuroo, and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to show up here in the middle of nowhere.

Keiji nodded. “Let me change. Then I’ll be ready.”

There wasn’t much he could say he owned anymore. Even his last clean outfit wasn’t necessarily his, just something the nuns gave him that was close to his size, loose pants and a billowy shirt that hung too low around his neck with sleeves that reminded him just how skeletal his arms were now.

At one point, they’d made promises of getting his stuff returned to him, that his belongings must have gotten lost on the way, but Keiji couldn’t think of a single item he might need to take with him. There were the letters—there were always the letters—but those had all been destroyed or lost. Some soldiers had photographs or handkerchiefs from loved ones, given at the moment of goodbyes, but Keiji’s family had never been rich enough for photographs and there was nothing really anyone could have given him. No one owned the materialistic sort of keepsakes back at his home village.

His mother might’ve handed him a fragile flower before he’d boarded the train, he could hardly recall, but there was never any intention something like that could survive the war.

The nuns prattled on as he changed—more talkative now than the entire duration of his stay—saying that they would be sure to forward anything that turned up, if only he gave them an address.

But Keiji had no idea where he’d be going next, or where he’d end up. He had no answer for them.

They promised to send it to the northern army base.

Keiji didn’t care. He was done with armies and wars.

Kuroo was waiting out in the car when he stepped back outside. He waved at him lazily and reached over to open the door for him.

His lax demeanor was strange to Keiji. Sure, Kuroo had never been the most serious soldier. He got away with what he could, mumbling quick responses to orders under his breath, cussing up a storm against whoever had pissed him off that day, as long as no one important was around to overhear. That meant, being in the same troop, Keiji got more than an earful.

All the same, Keiji trusted him. His familiar face put him at ease in the way nothing else could the past few months.

“So,” Kuroo started breezily as the engine turned over, filling the still air, “Have a peaceful recovery?”

Keiji shrugged, the pull of his muscles causing metal to clink even though the bandages muted it. He might never get used to the way that sound followed him around, an echo of even the slightest movement.

“And you?” he asked.

Kuroo had his scars, Keiji was sure of it. None were visible with his rumpled formal attire, and none were quite as obvious as Keiji’s, but they all had something, both on the surface and deep down.

Keiji wasn’t in the mood to do much digging today and it seemed neither was Kuroo.

The only telltale sign were the tired shadows under his eyes.

Keiji hadn’t seen a mirror in months—maybe longer—and, seeing Kuroo’s, he wondered if he had similar tells.

“I volunteered to come get you when you were all patched up,” Kuroo said instead of answering.

Keiji wasn’t sure who else would have. Besides, he didn’t even know who was left of their troop, not after that last night.

“You know—” Kuroo leaned closer, eyes still on the long stretch of road in front of them “—you’re usually pretty quiet, but I think this is pushing for a new record.”

“Sorry,” Keiji said haltingly. “I’ve been used to quiet.”

“I knew that place would be boring as hell.”

“There were no other soldiers there,” Keiji said.

Kuroo’s lips pursed and he righted himself in his seat. “The other hospitals weren’t in the greatest shape, take it from me. And with your injuries—I dunno, I guess they didn’t want to risk infection.”

It was quiet and Keiji forced himself not to squirm, lest he hear his prosthetics again.

Then, Kuroo threw a hand up and laughed. “But it worked out, right? I gotta say, you’re looking pretty fancy now. Dress you up in something nice and who knows! You’d blend right back into society.”

“Hmm,” Keiji hummed and turned his attention out the window. The scenery was the same as ever.

“I’m joking, of course,” Kuroo eventually said, tone serious again, that easy smile gone. “We’re not just throwing you out there.”

Keiji wanted to ask what he meant by that. He wanted to know where he was going, what kind of life he might lead now that everything was over, but nothing came out of his mouth. He couldn’t bear to face those questions let alone hear their answers. For now, he’d be content to watch the tree line as it neared and swallowed up the car.

Kuroo continued to drive them through the afternoon. In the past, the long hours in such a cramped space would have had Keiji restless with his legs cramping, but the months spent in bed had made him—had made his body—less than what the last four years had made him. He didn’t need a mirror to see how his body had changed.

Those years had also instilled in him the capability to weather just about anything. Even if his legs had been cramping, anxious fingers tapping on his leg, he would have endured it for hours—days even—if those were the orders. He had sat through entire nights, wet from the rain, chilled down to the bone, and unable to sleep a wink.

Staring out the window, his mind just about empty, had become like a new hobby for him. He’d forgotten what it meant to fill time and instead had learned how to watch it pass.

Sometime just before sunset—magic hour—just as the sun dyed everything in an orange light, Kuroo pulled into a gravel drive.

They’d passed rivers and small towns, but once again, they were in the middle of nowhere. Not another building in sight beyond the cottage that sat before them. An old iron fence surrounded it, ivy crawling up the posts and spilling over the top. The rest of the yard was overgrown with plants but not in an unkempt way. There were things growing here, vegetables, fruits, flowers, it was like an orderly kind of chaos.

As Keiji stepped out of the car and followed Kuroo down the path that split the greenery, he could hear the buzzing of insects. He could only think of flies before his eyes found the source. There were bees and the colorful flash of butterfly wings.

Keiji hadn’t seen something so compact, so colorful and alive in one place in a very long time.

“Is this where you live now?” he asked Kuroo, head on a swivel as he looked around. A swinging bench was nestled against the side of the house. Birds fluttered at a birdbath.

Kuroo chuckled. “No,” he said. “My family does.”

He didn’t go to the front door like Keiji expected. He wandered between the plots of the garden. Keiji stayed near the center, waiting, soaking in all of the colors. If this was vibrant, then the nunnery had been cast in monotones. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been outside much.

“There you are,” Kuroo said at least, looking down.

There was a muffled response, and Keiji crossed the rows to join Kuroo.

A smaller man was crouched amongst the plants. His head was cocked up to look at Kuroo while he fiddled with the gloves on his hands. They were dusted with the dirt he’d been digging in and a pile of weeds were by his feet.

“You’re early,” he said, making no move to stand, but he did tilt his head to look at Keiji, causing the straw hat to fall off his head, revealing the dark roots growing in against his blonde hair. The hat’s string caught against his throat.

“Akaashi, this is Kenma,” Kuro said. “And it didn’t take me as long as I thought.”

Kenma blinked at Keiji before he finally stood. He brushed the knees of his overalls, but that only smeared the dark dirt even more. “Well, the spare bedroom is ready, like you asked,” he said. “And now that you’re here, I can find something for dinner or—”

“Oh, I can’t stay.”

The words fell like heavy stones into the calmness of this place. Keiji could feel the chill even though Kenma’s only reaction was a slight flicker of his eyes.

Kuroo ran a hand through his hair, though his bangs flopped right back in place. “I told you I couldn’t stay long,” he said. “I have work tomorrow. Bright and early.”

“You should come inside,” Kenma said, and Keiji realized it was directed at him. Kenma motioned with his head and started toward the house, removing his gloves as he did, dropping them on the swing.

With a quick glance at Kuroo, Keiji started to follow. Exasperated, Kuroo threw his arms in the air.

“I can at least stay for a drink, you know,” he called to Kenma. “It would’ve been nice to have been asked.”

“You can make the tea then,” came Kenma’s voice just before he disappeared inside, and the screen hit the doorframe with a whack.

Keiji reached the door and held it for Kuroo. “You still do soldier work?” he asked quietly and Kuroo sighed.

“Nah, I quit the army.” Pausing just before the doorway, he planted his hands on his hips. “I work a normal job now. Had to find something to do,” he said proudly, and he passed Keiji.

Keiji followed hesitantly. “And what am I going to do?” he asked. There was a short hallway that opened up into a homey kitchen, all tile and wood and gauzy curtains that flapped against open windows. It was dim, the setting sun just barely finding its way inside. Kenma was lighting the stove before setting a kettle on it.

Kuroo shrugged at Keiji and brushed Kenma out of the way so he could take over. “Honestly? Whatever you want, Akaashi,” he said. “I figured you could help Kenma out around the place. There’s the garden. He keeps bees. All sorts of stuff.”

Kenma left the room and Keiji wondered if he was shy around new people. Keiji wasn’t very shy, but he was quiet. If he was staying here, he wondered if they would get along because of that or if the silence would stifle him, like what was beginning to happen at the nunnery.

This place was quiet, sure. It was calm. It was beautiful, but something about it sent anxiety clawing up Keij’s chest.

He made sure to suck in a breath of air.

It wasn’t that bad. It was just change. Change was an uprooting. It was meant to feel uncomfortable.

He stood in the middle of the kitchen thinking until the kettle whistled and Kuroo called “Tea’s ready!” to Kenma. Time passed so quickly when he was stuck in his own head. He was out of practice with people.

They all sat around the table and Kuroo poured the tea.

It was quiet for a long moment. Keiji stared down at his mug, working himself up to try and pick it up. He couldn’t count how many of the nun’s mugs had slipped from his fingers and shattered. And this one had no handle.

Kenma watched him over the brim of his mug. His eyes were piercing, but Keiji didn’t really mind.

“So,” Kenma started, his voice was soft. “You were in the war, too?”

Keiji nodded.

“And you were with Kuroo?”

Keiji nodded again, his hands were pressed into his lap so they wouldn’t mistakenly reach for his drink unawares. “I met him during our basic training and then we were assigned to the same troop.”

“And I bugged him the most,” Kuroo said with a coy grin as he leaned forward on his elbows, “so naturally we became friends.”

“That’s usually how it is with, Kuro,” Kenma said. His voice was flat, but Keiji picked up the slightest bit of warmth beneath his words.

“You should drink your tea, Akaashi. It’ll get cold,” Kuroo said.

“I, um—” Keiji reached one hand out to wrap around the mug. He could feel the tips of his bandaged fingers slide against the ceramic. He couldn’t risk picking it up.

Kenma shot Kuroo a look. “Kuro told me what happened,” he said, his sharp look softening just slightly as he turned his eyes on Keiji. “Hang on.”

Sliding out of his chair, Kenma disappeared into a different room. There was only silence in his wake, and it filled Keiji up like a balloon in his chest.

“Is it that bad?” Kuroo asked in a low voice.

Keiji retracted his hand from the mug. “My grip isn’t great yet,” he said, opening and closing the hand. The fingers trembled. One day, he might be able to control them better. “I’ll probably never be able to write. Anything smooth slips through metal or cloth—”

“Alright, alright,” Kuroo said, cutting him off gently. “Kenma will have something to fix it. He’s smart.”

Keiji took the comment and tried discarding any more thoughts on his prosthetics. “You said he was family?”

Kuroo glanced through the doorway Kenma had gone and shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s a better word for it but yeah. He’s been here since the war started. I was here for a bit then, too. When I came back though, I couldn’t stay. It was too…” He shrugged. “So, I got a job in the city and I try to come out here on my days off.”

“Here.”

They both looked up. Kenma placed a pair of leather gloves on the table and sat down again.

“I have a lot of gloves to work in and those are basically new, so—” he slid them closer to Keiji “—you should have them.”

Keiji picked them up. He pinched the leather together and was relieved when they didn’t slide. They were real leather. He hoped they’d do better than his bandages.

Setting the gloves back on the table, Keiji began unwrapping the bandages, beginning with the tips of his fingers and working up past his elbow. It was a painstaking process, but Kuroo and Kenma watched patiently as they drank their tea. Then, with the bandages piled in his lap, Keiji carefully pulled on the gloves, pinching them delicately between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m glad they fit,” Kenma said as Keiji moved his fingers, listening to the stretch of the leather over his knuckles.

He used both hands to pick up his mug to be safe, and though his hands still trembled, they held the mug safely so he could drink his lukewarm tea. Kenma smiled at him. Kuroo pushed his chair back and stood, causing them both to look his way.

“Looks like everything will work out with this arrangement then,” he said. “I really should be getting back. It’ll be dark soon.”

Kenma cast a look out the window where the sunlight was quickly fading. “Alright,” he said and stood as well before exiting the room.

Kuroo’s shoulder slouched as he sighed in response. Then, he looked Keiji’s way.

“I’ll see you in a few days or so.” He edged to the door. “Tell Kenma if you need anything, and if you need anything from the city, Kenma usually just writes to me. See ya, Akaashi.”

He headed back down the hallway and Keiji suddenly realized he was sitting alone in the kitchen, the light quickly fading through the window, elongating the shadows around him, and bringing a dark night.

Keiji pushed his chair back so fast that it toppled over, but he was already moving down the hallway and throwing the front door open. Kuroo was halfway to his car.

“Wait,” Keiji said, his voice breathless. In hurried steps, he followed after Kuroo. “I can’t stay here. I can’t be surrounded by nothing again. I need to work, I need to do _something_.”

The thing was, Keiji completely related with how Kuroo must’ve felt, back when he came home here and realized he couldn’t just live that same life again. The silence was just too loud.

And Keiji didn’t have a home to return to. There was no life to try to settle back into again, but he knew he couldn’t take the emptiness any longer.

And even though visibility was bad with the sun gone behind the trees, Keiji thought he could see understanding cross Kuroo’s face.

“You’ll probably disappoint Kenma—”

“I know and I’m sorry,” rushed out of Keiji’s mouth. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful. I appreciate you looking out for me, but there must be something else, Kuroo-san. I’m sure there’s something I can do, even with my lousy arms.”

Kuroo stared at him for a long moment. There was a rusted squeak behind Keiji—Kenma must’ve come to the door—but he didn’t turn around to check.

“I can think of something you could do,” Kuroo finally said. “But you’re sure you’d be alright in the city?”

“Yes,” Keiji said. Maybe in the future, he would cringe remembering how desperate one word could sound, but then maybe in the future, he would no longer recall the feeling of drowning. Of the whole world closing in. Of the helplessness that threatened to overtake him every passing moment as he thought of what the future might possibly hold for him.

The fear that things really would never be the same again. The feat that he would never move past these feelings and that they would eventually take him under.

He was afraid that he was ruined, broken beyond repair, but he knew that by standing still, he would never find out if he was capable of moving past this.

Kuroo stuck his hands into his pant pockets. “You’d better be up for more driving, then,” he said. “Kenma, sorry for the trouble. I’ll still see you in a few days.”

Keiji didn’t know if Kenma made a reply. The blood was rushing in his ears as he stepped forward, knowing he couldn’t look back. The past already had its hold on his flesh—the scars, the missing arms—he would never be able to forget it. If he were to look back, it might just overtake him completely.

* * *

Tooru was working late again. It was already dark outside the windows of the office where he and the others worked. At first, the fading light didn’t register in him that it was time to head home. The long days of summer didn’t reach him when he sat with his back to the windows.

Now, it was the second time he looked up did he realize the late hour. Outside, Capital City wore its night lights like stars. It was warm and no one had to be in a hurry.

Blowing a sigh through his nose, Tooru looked back at the typewriter in front of him. There was still so much he could work on. There were the invitations for the mayor’s daughter’s birthday. They were only halfway through those and Tooru hadn’t checked their progress of how many envelopes had been addressed.

The others had left an hour ago. Maybe two. It was hard to tell.

Unlike Tooru, they had no trouble stopping whatever they were working on and heading out when the downtown clock struck the hour.

Of course, none of the others had worked at the Bird in Hand Postal Company as long as Tooru had. It’d be almost a year now in a few months, which was hard to believe. The company still felt like something new, a fragile little hatchling.

Maybe that was because the idea of making postal services widespread for the common folk was a new one. People were still getting used to it. Hell, most of the employees were still getting used to it. Mailing routes seemed to change on the monthly while they figured out what was most efficient. Prices rose and fell with the notion of keeping the company afloat while keeping their services accessible.

Tooru didn’t envy the president. He was happy enough where he was, writing letters for those who couldn’t, whether that was because they couldn’t read or write or because they didn’t know the right words. He was able to fulfill the role with sophistication and grace. There was a reason why his skills were most requested among the lot.

Standing wearily on his feet, Tooru grabbed his coat and placed the last invitation he’d finished on the stack with the others. Tomorrow, someone would get to folding them and tucking them away into the properly addressed envelopes. Then, someone else would take them downstairs. They’d be sorted to the proper routes and finally those on deliveries would take them to their proper homes.

It was a process Tooru was endlessly amazed by, and he got to be at the start of it. Most of the time, his words were the ones used to express how the sender felt toward the recipient. Sometimes, those were complicated and tangled emotions. One had to go through them with a fine-toothed comb, ask the right questions, decipher what the sender meant, what they wanted to say. People so easily hid their true intentions, often without even realizing.

And Tooru was very good at figuring those out.

He left the room behind and made a turn to swing by the president’s office. It was part of his routine on nights he stayed long after most had gone home.

After all, he was one of the first employees here. He liked knowing what was going on. Not only that, but he’d been the one to come up with the idea for his position and the others like it.

He rapped his knuckles on the large oak door and entered. “Ukai-san,” he said, raising his voice. “Just popping in before I head home for the night.”

Ukai, the postal company’s diligent president, was at his desk, his head tipped over the back. In Tooru’s opinion, it was much too dark in the office to get any proper work down. Only the lamp next to the desk was lit.

All in all, it was a squalor office for one belonging to the president, but then, usually those in charge were worse off than their employees after starting up a company. Ukai had been in the army for most of the war. That was rumor to most, but Tooru knew it for fact. Ukai had been dishonorably discharged last summer, though no one knew why or if it was just the rumor mill churning out exaggerations. Tooru wondered about all that—the decision it took to step away from something like the war and make something else in return—but he’d never asked.

Ukai tipped his head up at his entrance. “You’re still here?”

“You know we’ve been busy with the mayor’s latest job,” Tooru said. “Just making sure we’re where we need to be.”

Ukai pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t complain when I can’t pay you overtime.”

Tooru shrugged. Really, he was just happy to have a job that paid. A lot of places had closed down during the war. Right now, any forward momentum was a sign that things would get better again.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was much to be done at home.

“Busy day?” he asked.

“Bank day,” Ukai said, still rubbing a hand over his face.

“Ah.”

Any day that involved finances was typically a long and frustrating one.

“But—” Ukai heaved a sigh and sat straighter “—nothing to report. We’re pretty much on track.”

“Maybe,” Tooru started, taking in a breath. Trying to be positive for Ukai’s sake always felt like a reach. “Once they declare the war over—officially, I mean—maybe business will pick up even more. Things will happen again, and people will have different things to write about.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Ukai leveled him with a look and Tooru met it unflinchingly. “I think we’ll be busy in the next few months, sure. More troops will be returning home and there’ll be a lot of letters to send, but not for the reason you think.”

No, Tooru knew exactly what he meant, and it made a chill settle beneath his skin. It was much easier to fake a smile and plan for when things were normal again.

“Perhaps,” he said, pulling that smile now. “But I’ll leave you to your work, Mr. President. Make sure you leave at some point.”

Ukai waved him off and said nothing more. Tooru left the way he’d come.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after the doors were shut behind him. His smile was gone.

Of course, Tooru knew exactly why business would start picking up. He wasn’t a child. He knew they’d be used largely for writing up missing person reports, letters to separated family and friends, trying to reconnect with limited means. They’d have to sort through returned mail that couldn’t reach its destination.

No, Tooru was perfectly aware that the world wasn’t going to return to normal any time soon, but still. He didn’t need to be talked down to just because he was trying to cheer his boss up.

Running a hand over his face beneath his glasses, Tooru made his way downstairs. The huge building was dim now with most of the lights out. No sunlight came through the massive windows on the first floor. He knew that Ukai had gotten this place from some relative or other, but Tooru had to wonder just how much money his family had. To turn a mansion this size into a company within only a few months—despite the need for an accessible post service—and to even have a mansion in the family to begin with.

He left through the large double doors. Maybe, back in the day, this hill set just above the city would’ve belonged to whoever owned this building, but the city had grown since then and it would’ve been an even bigger expense to keep that kind of land. Homes and businesses packed on either side. No doubt they had an equally expensive upkeep. Tooru certainly couldn’t afford to live in any of them.

It was a cobblestoned slope down to the crowded city streets and alleys of Capital City. His apartment wasn’t too far. The short commute made it easy to excuse working as late as he did. Plenty of his coworkers lived in the same building or close by. Cars were becoming an increasingly popular commodity, but if you didn’t need it, why bother? The money could be saved on better things.

That didn’t mean other people didn’t waste the money. It was starting to make the streets louder every day, even at night.

Tooru lived on the first floor and his dark apartment greeted him. Maybe it’d be brighter and more inviting with the sun coming through the windows if he actually left on time. Instead, he had just enough energy to drop his bag at the door, cross the room, and flop down face first onto his couch.

It was better this way.

This way, he could just sleep, wake up, and go back to work the next morning. There was no empty time spent with nothing to do.

Then, his stomach growled.

Then, his door opened.

He could hear his bag getting shoved out of the way. Uneven steps creaked across his wooden floors before the lights were flicked on. Even with his face buried into the couch, the sudden brightness was already giving him a headache.

Tooru groaned into the coach cushions as the steps moved closer. Something whacked the side of his foot and he yelped and pushed himself up on his elbows.

“What did I do to suffer such abuse?” he snapped over his shoulder with all the melodrama he could muster.

Iwaizumi stared back at him, as unimpressed as someone who had grown up with him could be. In one hand, he held up a bowl. An upside-down plate covered the top, keeping the contents warm. “I brought dinner,” he said flatly and then crossed the room to Tooru’s kitchen.

With a huff, Tooru adjusted his glasses on his face and stood up.

“You know, if I wanted such cheerful company, Iwa-chan, I would’ve just knocked on your door,” Tooru lectured teasingly as he followed. He eyed Iwaizumi’s back. Then, like always, his eyes dropped to the cane he leaned on. Iwaizumi once groused that it made him look old even though he and Tooru were the same age. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“You live five steps across the hall, dummy.”

Stretching a smile across his lips, Tooru stepped alongside him at the table. “Still,” he said, keeping his voice light, “I’m an adult, Iwa-chan. It’s like you think I can’t take care of myself.”

Blowing air through his nose, Iwaizumi turned his head toward the kitchen pointedly and Tooru’s smile froze, the blood draining from his face.

Right.

Maybe it wasn’t the best time to argue that he could be responsible for himself when just about every plate he owned was dirty and stacked in the sink. That wasn’t counting the silverware that had been shoved down the sides.

Well, he’d been busy.

“Not counting that, you don’t feed yourself,” Iwaizumi said, easing himself into a chair.

Scowling at himself, Tooru followed. The only edible thing Iwaizumi could make was soup. Of the two of them, Tooru was obviously the better cook, he just never spent the time or effort to make meals happen. Which was why, at least half the week, Iwaizumi was opening his door and bringing dinner.

“I feed myself just fine, thank you very much,” Tooru said, but he was already filling his mouth, his appetite suddenly rearing its traitorous head. “I had a big lunch and then, after working a very long day, you come barging into my home and interrupt my beauty sleep.”

“The only thing I was interrupting was you falling asleep with your clothes on again.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “You didn’t even take off your shoes.”

Blinking, Tooru realized he still hadn’t. He swallowed too quick and coughed.

“Besides, you’ll mess up your back if you keep sleeping on your couch that way,” Iwaizumi continued. “You have a bed. Use it.”

“So sweet and kind of you to be looking out for me, Iwa-chan” Tooru said with a smile. “You should move in already if you insist on mothering me.”

Iwaizumi shoved Tooru’s face down toward his soup. “Keep that up and you really will be skin and bone.”

Back in the old days, Tooru might have considered pushing his buttons even more, but now he was tired, and though his pride wouldn’t let him admit it, he was grateful to come home to a warm meal.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. “Thank you for the food.”

He was grateful to come home to Iwaizumi at all.

Iwaizumi left not too long after that, taking his dishes with him and demanding Tooru clean things up.

Still in his chair, Tooru could only cast a woeful look to his sink. The plates would still be there tomorrow and probably the day after that as well. Iwaizumi would probably still bring him food tomorrow, too. Maybe even the day after if his leg wasn’t hurting.

Tooru leaned his head over the back of the chair, staring at the door across the room that Iwaizumi had just shut.

It was all starting to feel normal. Mundane. Not boring, just…it was starting to feel like Iwaizumi hadn’t left, even though he had only just returned two months ago. They hadn’t always been like this. It was just a new normal after the dust had settled. Before, they’d been practically kids living next door to each other in the better part of the city.

That was all four years ago.

And Tooru had been angry at him when he’d left, but when he came back—like that—well, he couldn’t be—wasn’t allowed to be—angry anymore.

They’d found neighboring apartments close to where Tooru worked and pretended it was just like the old days.

Except that the only part that was still the same was the fact that they were neighbors. Four years ago, Iwaizumi didn’t bring Tooru his leftovers. Four years ago, Tooru didn’t feel the need stay late at work just so he didn’t have to try to kill empty time at home. Four years ago, Iwaizumi didn’t have to walk with a cane because a bullet shattered his knee.

Tooru got up slowly from the table. He left the chairs as they were. He left the dishes as they were.

He went to his room, undressed, and got into bed.

He wasn’t allowed to be angry anymore because Iwaizumi came back while so many others didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always end up getting inspiration for super niche AU ideas, so yeah. Multi ship, multi POV Haikyuu fic randomly inspired by Violet Evergarden. I hope this odd jumble of a fic will appeal to someone besides me? Haha
> 
> There shouldn't be any spoilers for Violet Evergarden as this is completely different. It's just inspired off of that universe and aesthetic, and because I can't draw, here's a fic.
> 
> If you enjoy it, please make sure to comment! I'll try not to let this fic get out of hand so I can finish it. I have a lot of fun ideas.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://silentmarco.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [this amazing art](https://m-art-i.tumblr.com/post/619097804568150016/he-stood-with-only-bare-feet-in-the-cold-dewy) done for the first chapter!

“Kuroo says you’ve just returned from the war as well.”

Ukai Keishin is not what Keiji expected of the president of the company Kuroo brought him to. He was maybe in his thirties. Kuroo said he’d been in the army for a time, but now his hair was bleached and his ears were lined with piercings. He looked like the complete opposite of any soldier Keiji had ever seen.

He slouched in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he looked Keiji up and down. It wasn’t a malevolent stare. Keiji didn’t mind it. It just crossed his mind how much staring people did outside the army, and he hadn’t even removed his gloves yet.

“That’s correct, sir,” Keiji said. “And I’m not asking for your pity. If you don’t have a job, please just say so.”

“We’re a new company. We have plenty of jobs,” Ukai cut in. “How about we start you on deliveries and see how you do?”

And that was how Keiji ended up on a whirlwind of a tour given by a bundle of energy introduced to him as Hinata Shouyou. Kuroo said he would have given it himself, but he had deliveries to make. On the other hand, Hinata could give a tour and still get his deliveries done on time.

Keiji had only known him for a few minutes and that fact was even apparent to him.

They covered the reception area, where people made inquiries, sent letters, asked questions and were pointed off in the right direction. They went upstairs next, where the president’s office was. There were also meeting rooms and other offices that Hinata didn’t know the finer details of.

There was one door he did stop at, giving Keiji a chance to catch his breath.

“This is where the Birds work,” he said.

“You have birds,” Keiji repeated with a frown. “Isn’t sending post by bird a little…antiquated?”

Hinata shook his head roughly. “No, no! These are the Messenger Birds. You know.” He pointed up at the metal plate on the door. Sure enough, it read Messenger Birds in a fancy font. “The writing department. They write letters. People come and pay them to write letters. Sometimes, they’ll even pay for a Bird to come to them, which is how they got the name.”

“So they’ll be writing some of the letters we send,” Keiji hummed before he nodded. “Noted.”

Hinata’s face brightened. “They have the most exciting jobs, but sometimes that means _we_ get to have some fun, too,” he said. His excitement made his steps faster as he passed Keiji to return downstairs.

“How so?” Keiji asked, quickening his pace to keep up. At least Hinata was short. If he were any taller, he might prove to be uncatchable.

“Letters without addresses,” Hinata said, his eyes practically sparkling at the thought. “Means we get to try and track them down.”

“Sounds troublesome to me,” Keiji said as Hinata jumped the last three steps down. A few curious glances were cast their way, but Keiji noticed that most of the workers at the front desk paid Hinata no mind.

Hinata waved him over, not noticing any attention thrown his way. “C’mon, I’ll show you where we work.”

The building was huge and open inside. Keiji had been able to tell from the exterior that it had once been a home rather than a place of business, but now that he’d gone through it, it was an odd combination of an upper-class sort of homeliness paired with desks and offices and files. And of course the letters. There were letters everywhere Keiji looked. They passed between hands, pressed with the company’s seal, carried from one floor to the next, shoved into bags, slipped into mail slots.

Keiji had never seen so many letters in his life.

“Letters gets sorted here,” Hinata said as they entered a room full of shelves. Keiji noticed courier bags tucked away between the shelves and the walls and underneath tables. “We’ll sort some of them at the beginning and end of our shifts if there’s anything new. Mostly someone’s in here during the day while we’re out on deliveries.”

Keiji walked past the cubbies of neatly sorted mail. Each hole had letters stacked so precisely and tucked away, and each shelf was marked with a number and letter. Some shelves were empty, letters already on their way to be delivered.

“Packages are sorted and stored in the next room over,” Hinata said, pointing to a door. “You can deliver your route however you want, though it’s hard to carry both your mail and packages at the same time. We have bikes, but there’s not enough for everyone. I do letters first in the morning and then packages in the afternoon. But don’t worry, if anything’s crazy, we help each other out.”

Hinata was a blur even when speaking. Keiji’s head spun trying to keep up.

“Everything is so organized,” Keiji said softly, his eyes still gazing about the room. It was truly nothing spectacular, but the sense of order, knowing you had a job and you did it until it was done, put him at ease. There was still anxiety bubbling in his stomach. There was still the overwhelmingness that came with a new place—and this was Capital City. If he wasn’t careful, it would swallow him whole. But this was manageable.

“Well—” Hinata looked around the room, spinning himself in a circle “—that’s it for the tour. Ukai said to get you a map of your route and a bag, and you should be good to go.” He stared at Akaashi a moment before hitting his open palm with his fist. “Oh yeah! A uniform, too!”

Before long, Hinata had procured an identical cap and jacket to the ones he wore. Both were the same color of cornflower blue with the Bird in Hand Postal Company logo, two overlapped hands with the silhouette of a bird in flight in the middle. The same iron plaque swung above the front entrance.

The cap pushed Akaashi’s hair against his forehead and the jacket was just a size too big. He cuffed the sleeves so they wouldn’t hang past the tips of his fingers. Where Hinata’s arms filled out the jacket’s sleeves, Akaashi’s hung loose from his upper arm down to his leather gloves.

Even Hinata noticed.

“You sure are thin, Akaashi-san,” he said. “But that’s the only size we have.”

“I’ll be fine,” Akaashi said, assuring Hinata with a small smile. “You said you have a map?”

Hinata snapped to salute—more of a playful imitation than what Akaashi was familiar with—and rushed to one of the tables. A courier bag was already stuffed full of mail and a piece of parchment was folded and set on top.

“Here you go!” Hinata heaved the bag off the table and handed it to Akaashi.

It was heavier than it looked. He’d expected a bag full of paper to weigh nothing at all after traveling miles fully equipped the last four years, but that was not the case.

Still, he pulled the strap across his chest no problem. He was technically still recovering after all. This would just take some getting used to.

He picked up the map.

“Don’t you think you’ll be hot with those gloves on?”

Akaashi looked at Hinata, then blinked down at his hands. “They’re fine,” he said. “I find them easier to work in.”

To his surprise, Hinata stifled a giggle under his fist. Akaashi raised his eyebrows.

“So, he’s not the only one,” he murmured into his hand before stepping forward and point at Akaashi’s map. “Your route is highlighted. Ukai-san said you’re only doing half of one today. If you have any problems, someone will circle back around to check in with you.”

Akaashi nodded, refolded the map, and slipped it into his back pocket. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Great!” Hinata chirped. “Then, I’m going to get started on mine.” He grabbed a similar bag and swung it over his head. Then he grabbed a second and crossed it over the opposite shoulder, knocking his hat askew. He grinned at Akaashi. “If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be the last one back.”

And, with a hasty wave, he was gone out the door.

Staring after him, Akaashi readjusted his bag.

He was…on his own again. It shouldn’t feel weird, but already the time spent at the nunnery felt so far away, though it was only yesterday morning.

He stepped back into the building’s grand entryway—so open and big—now converted into the reception. It was buzzing with activity. Girls at the front desks talked cheerfully to all sorts of people. Even more waited their turn on benches, fumbling through documents or addressing letters.

Akaashi skirted past them and went back outside.

Growing up in a small village had done him no favors. The city still took his breath away no matter how many towns and cities he’d visited over the years in the military. But he was good at finding his way. He’d had to do it before, every time they showed up in a new place.

He reached for the map. All he had to do was follow the route and pair the mail to its address. It was a simple, straightforward task.

Turning right, he followed the cobblestone path down to the heart of Capital City.

It was well past noon by the time he finally found a bench. Why it was impossible to find somewhere to sit in this city was beyond him. It was so impossible to find anything, that a bench had become the priority the past twenty minutes or so. When he found one, he plopped onto it with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

Beside him, his courier bag had deflated considerably, but he was still nowhere close to being done.

He removed his cap to wipe his forehead, only the leather of his glove refused to soak up the sweat. Scowling, he dropped his arm back into his lap.

At the nunnery, the doctor had told him that his prosthetics were weighted so they wouldn’t cause his body any extra strain, and for months, he’d believed that. Laying in a bed, walking a few steps outside, none of that had strained his body or his wounds as he recovered.

But now, his shoulders ached—no, they felt as though they were on fire. His neck cramped all the way through his upper back and his head was pounding. Even his elbows and hands hurt—each and every joint until he could even move his fingers—and he didn’t even have those anymore. It felt like he was tearing apart at the seams, especially where metal joined his skin.

He felt worse than his first day of basic training.

And, as his luck would have it, he was lost.

He’d gotten so turned around in the city’s streets, gone down alleyways that didn’t even exist on his map. Somewhere, he’d taken one wrong turn and he hadn’t been able to recover since. So, there he was, trying to keep afloat in this city with only this bench buoying his head above water.

He should have taken Kuroo’s first offer. Sure, he’d be bored to death at Kenma’s cottage in the middle of nowhere, but at least he wouldn’t be failing at such simple tasks. Who was he to presume he could hold down a job when he hadn’t worked a proper day in his life?

“You’re Akaashi Keiji.”

The words were flat and weren’t exactly a question, but it was Keiji’s name.

Realizing he’d closed his eyes, Keiji opened them and looked up. A man was standing a ways off staring at him. He was dressed in the postal company’s uniform, but his dark eyes were all that were visible between the cap that flattened his black curls and the facemask that covered his nose and mouth and wrapped around his chin. He had a bag like Keiji’s that hung empty over one shoulder and black leather gloves on his hands, which Keiji found odd. Even though it was late summer, it was still so hot out.

Only a second late did Keiji realize he should be standing to greet his new coworker—that was, if he still had a job. He hurried to his feet and his vision nearly whited out as the blood rushed to his head.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji,” he said, even though his vision was not yet clear. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man didn’t step closer. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” came the uninterested reply.

Keiji bowed in greeting. “I apologize if you had to come looking for me. I got lost—”

“I didn’t,” Sakusa cut in. “I turned the corner and there you were. Lucky for you, you weren’t far off. Where’s Hinata?”

Keiji blinked at him. “Hinata?” he repeated. “He went to do his route.”

An expression crossed Sakusa’s face—a grimace, a scowl, Keiji wasn’t sure—his mask kept it hidden. “Come on,” he grumbled and started walking. Bracing himself, Keiji stepped forward to catch up. His entire body complained at moving so soon, but Keiji pushed past that.

“Do you want to split what’s left?” he asked, holding up his bag of letters. “Once you point me in the right direction, I’ll be fine.”

“No. We’re going back,” Sakusa said. “You look ready to keel over.”

Keiji felt his face flush at that. He turned his gaze to his feet, hating the relief that washed over at him knowing that he didn’t have to wander around the city anymore. Slipping off one glove, he dabbed at his face with it. The leather still did a bad job at soaking up any sweat, but it kept it from running down his neck.

“What’s wrong with your—”

Keiji froze, his glove pressed to his cheek. Slowly, he lowered his prosthetic out between them, passing off the glove to his other hand. Sakusa had already cut his question short, eyes glaring straight ahead of them, until they couldn’t help but be drawn back.

“I lost my hands in the war,” Keiji said, and it felt strange to finally say those words out loud, like someone else was saying it for him.

Sakusa looked away again. “You were in the army.” He still had that monotone to his voice, one that would make you want to shut up and stop talking to him for fear that you were being a nuisance.

But Keiji had met all sorts of people in the military. His tiny world that had once ended with his village had opened up immensely. It was Kuroo that had made him realize just how different another person’s nature could be.

He nodded. “I was.”

“And they have you doing this?”

“Yes.” Clumsily, Keiji fiddled the other glove off his hand. Something as simple as this wouldn’t cool him down anymore, but he liked the illusion. “My friend helped me find this job.”

“Tch.” Sakusa’s eyes narrowed. Keiji still couldn’t tell if it was a glare or if he was squinting against the sun.

“Aren’t you hot?” he asked. The heat was manageable with the jacket. The gloves would have been overkill if the temperature affected his arms, but Sakusa was practically covered head to toe.

“Do you understand how many letterboxes and doors we have to touch every day? How many people we pass?” For once, Sakusa’s voice carried the slight inflection of irritation.

Keiji blinked. He was more surprised than offended. “I hadn’t really thought that much about it.”

“Maybe to you it doesn’t matter.”

Keiji thought of the things he must’ve touched with his hands in the war. He thought of the mud, blood, and grime that had coated his skin, flecked onto his face. It wasn’t pleasant—it was downright terrible, some of the worst days he could remember—but, compared to that, somebody’s letterbox looked pristine.

He looked down at one hand. He wondered what might have been the last thing he’d touched.

He glanced back at Sakusa. He supposed they each had their own reasoning to explain the way they were. Akaashi wore gloves to help his grip, to hide what he was missing. Sakusa wore them to keep the dirtiness of the world at bay.

They continued the rest of the way back in silence. Keiji was surprised to find that they weren’t too far from the company building. He must’ve walked himself in circles, and he could still feel the aches traveling down his body. They hadn’t stopped, but his conversation with Sakusa—however brief—had at least been a distraction. His half-filled courier bag felt heavier than it should have. He guessed that was partly due to his weak body and the guilt of leaving a job unfinished.

He figured they’d return to the delivery room, but Sakusa made for the stairs, keeping close to the wall and as far away from everyone else as he could. Keiji followed. Before they’d even reached the stairs, the bundle of energy was back at his side.

“Hey, Akaashi-san,” Hinata piped. “I see you met Sakusa-san.”

“You’re already done?” Keiji asked.

Hinata nodded fervently. “I just got back. How’d your first run go?”

Keiji opened his mouth but then closed it, lips pressing together firmly.

“He got lost, thanks to you,” Sakusa said over his shoulder, as much of a snap as Keiji had heard since meeting him.

Hinata’s eyes went wide, hesitating on the steps for only a second. “Me?” he asked pointing to himself, but when the other two didn’t respond, he scurried to catch up. “What’d I do? I gave him a map, just like Ukai-san said.”

They were already at the top. Keiji’s head was spinning from the climb and Hinata’s constant chatter. Sweat had returned to his face, but it made him cold now that he was out of the sun.

Sakusa pulled his mask down, his mouth etched into a scowl, and he opened the double doors to the president’s office.

Ukai looked up as the three of them entered. He had his cheek pressed into his fist as he was writing something but sat up at the sight of them.

“How did Akaashi’s first day go?” Ukai asked, eyes traveling between Sakusa and Hinata expectantly.

“He shouldn’t be working,” Sakusa said. “I found him lost and nearly passed out. Whose idea was it to send him out alone anyway?”

Ukai frowned. “Hinata, weren’t you supposed to go with him?”

Hinata shook his head. “You told me to show him his route and then gave me the map, Ukai-san.”

Running a hand over his face, Ukai grimaced. “Okay, no, that’s not what I—”

There was a knock on the open doors and a head poked in. “Yoo, saw Akaashi was back. How’d things go?”

Keiji’s shoulders tensed at Kuroo’s voice. The last thing he wanted was for Kuroo to realize he’d gone and squandered the chance he’d given him here. Keiji had thought he could at least pretend things were normal, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Sakusa’s scowl was back. “Whatever. I have work to do.” He turned to Keiji and held out his hand.

It took Keiji a moment to get the strap of his bag over his head to give to Sakusa. Face twisted in disgust, Sakusa took it, making sure their hands didn’t brush. Keiji could’ve sworn he flinched as he tucked it over his shoulder and walked out of the room.

Keiji didn’t realize that it had grown quiet until he turned his attention back to Ukai.

“Your hands,” Hinata said quietly in awe. He was staring, and Keiji had forgotten to put his gloves back on. “I thought you had a germ thing like Sakusa-san, but—”

Keiji spread his hands out for Hinata, feeling Ukai’s and Kuroo’s eyes sharply on his as well. “It’s nothing to be concerned with,” he said as Hinata reached out and gave them a gentle poke. The metal clinked. Keiji turned his gaze to Ukai. “I can still work. I can still…be of use.”

“No,” Ukai said slowly through a sigh and froze as everyone turned to look at him. This time, he rubbed two hands over his face with a groan before placing them on his desk and standing. “Let’s—figure this out. You two have to be starved if you skipped lunch.”

Hinata’s head bobbed eagerly as Kuroo stepped properly into the room.

“Count me in, too,” he said, and his heavy hand landed on Keiji’s shoulder. “You know me, boss. I’m always down for a free meal.”

Keiji looked up to see a wide grin stretching Kuroo’s face, and it wasn’t one of his teasing ones. He brushed his hand away before tugging the gloves back on. “Knock it off, Kuroo-san.”

“Come on, my treat,” Ukai said, crossing the room to the door.

“Are you firing Akaashi-san?” Hinata piped up, causing Ukai to pause in the doorway.

“No, I’m not—” he turned around with a frown and composed his voice to try again “—Nobody’s fired. Will you just—free food.” He gestured out the doorway. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Great!” Hinata said and leaped forward. “I’m starving!”

Keiji stayed in place, securing his gloves and threading his fingers together, pushing them further down. “I don’t need you standing up for me, you know,” he said to Kuroo who was still at his side. “If Ukai-san doesn’t want me, that’s fine. There are other jobs out there.”

“Maybe not,” Kuroo said, hands on his hips as he stared at the open door, “but you need this place—or it needs you—I just have a feeling about it.” He looked back at Keiji. “And there’s not too many people out there in Ukai’s position that have been through what we have. Either they’re dead or still in the military, so if anyone understands, it’s gonna be Ukai.”

Keiji didn’t say anything else on the matter and let his hands fall to his sides. “Let’s catch up.”

An assortment of food covered the table. Keiji didn’t think he’d seen so much food laid out before him since—since—he couldn’t recall. Even living at home with his parents growing up, they never had a spread like this. The only memory that came to mind were the festivals every year, but ever since the nunnery, he didn’t like thinking about such bright memories.

“Thank you for the food,” chimed Kuroo and Hinata before digging in. Keiji took another second to take it all in.

He glanced at Ukai and inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said, but Ukai waved him off, looking tired.

“You’re all hopeless,” he said. “Eat before it gets cold.”

“Ukai-san,” Hinata said with his mouth full, “did you make a mistake today or something? What happened to Akaashi-san?”

Keiji swore a vein twitched above Ukai’s eye.

“Hinata, do you remember what I said this morning?” Ukai asked slowly.

“Sure.” Hinata swallowed and tapped his chin as he thought back. “You said someone new was working today and it was my job to show them around.”

“Yes.”

“You told me where the extra uniforms were.”

“Yes.”

“You said his bag was in the delivery room.”

“Yes.”

“And then you said to show him his route and handed me the map,” Hinata said, eyes large and innocent, and Keiji could already see where the problem was. “Which I did before I went on my route. And I told him Sakusa-san would meet up with him later.”

Ukai’s palm struck his forehead as he leaned forward on the table. He looked like he was having a rough day. “It’s my fault,” came his hoarse response directed into his lap. “I should’ve been more clear.” He lifted his head, eyeing Hinata. “I meant you were to physically go with him and _show him his route_.”

Finally, Hinata’s face lit in understanding. “Ohh!”

“And you.” Ukai turned on Kuroo, who froze mid-chew. “You didn’t think it’d be smart to mention he’s been injured. That he’s still recovering? That maybe a job that requires hauling ass around the entire city might be a bit strenuous?”

Kuroo stared back at him blankly, then swallowed.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” Keiji pressed.

“He said he’s fine,” Kuroo added.

Ukai looked ready to flip the table.

“Really,” Keiji continued. “This isn’t necessary. I’ll do better next time—”

Ukai held up a hand. “I understand how you feel, Akaashi. Believe me I do,” he said. “You’re used to having the switch flipped on all the time. You’ve rested for a little bit now and it’s bugging you that you can’t turn it on again so soon after, even though there’s no need.”

Keiji gritted his teeth.

“But I want you to do something for me,” Ukai continued. “I want you to try looking past that impulse and honestly consider what you can do and what you can’t.”

The table was quiet, and Keiji hated how Kuroo and Hinata were looking obstinately at their plates. There wasn’t even a clink of silverware or the sounds of chewing. On the edge of the table, his hands bunched into fists, stretching the leather over his metal knuckles.

“I—” he hated giving up on something; the words tasted like failure “—I don’t think I can deliver mail right now.”

His body was just too weak, it wasn’t used to carrying the alien weight of his prosthetics. Every part of him ached and burned, and he just couldn’t do all of the walking around. Maybe one day, but Ukai was right. He was still recovering.

He might always be recovering.

Keiji choked on the thought and swallowed it down like bile.

“What about the Birds?” Kuroo asked.

Ukai crossed his arms over his chest. “What about them?”

“They write letters, don’t they?” Kuroo had one of his suspicious smirks on his face as he tilted his head. “Well, Akaashi wrote letters all the time during the war. Every day, in fact. Why doesn’t he work there?”

Ukai opened his mouth, then closed his. He looked toward the ceiling as he considered. “I’ll be honest,” he said to Akaashi, “it’s not the easiest job, but as long as you can read and write, I don’t see why we can’t try it out.”

“I completed school,” Keiji said. “Reading and writing is not an issue.”

“He can even write the real fancy letters,” Kuroo said, still smiling.

“It’s just—” Keiji watched his hands “—I don’t know if I can hold a pen anymore.”

Ukai leaned back in his seat, looking a whole lot more relieved than when they had entered. “That won’t be a problem,” he said. “You can start tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

“Thank you for having me.”

To Keiji’s relief, everyone turned their attentions back to their food. He had lost most of his appetite between the conversation and the few bites he’d already taken, but he did his best to join in.

He didn’t let himself think of the last letter he’d tried to write. Writing for someone else would be different, right? Eventually, he’d have to sit down and write one of his own, but that would be after he’d found out what it was that he wanted to say. That was if Bokuto was still out there to receive a letter.

That tight panicked feeling gripped his chest and Keiji had to focus on chewing for a moment.

After four years, there was no way that Bokuto would have been in that tiny village of their childhood. He’d had dreams, Keiji remembered them so clearly. He wouldn’t have been there when the bombs dropped. He would’ve been somewhere far away, somewhere safer.

He had to still be out there.

“Hey, Akaashi-san, where do you live?” Hinata asked, mouth full again. “If you’re on my route, I’ll be the one delivering any letters you get.”

“Uh, nowhere yet,” Keiji said. “I’ve been taking up Kuroo’s couch for the time being.”

“Yup, we’re roomies. Just like before, except with a lot less mud,” Kuroo said. He and Keiji both made a face.

“But if you have any recommendations for a place, I’d be happy to hear it,” Keiji said to Hinata. “Maybe one on your route.”

“Why don’t you move into the Ikkei House?” Ukai said. He was finally filling his plate.

“What the heck is that?” Kuroo asked.

Ukai shrugged. “It’s what I call the living space of the Bird in Hand. It was my gramps’s name. It was his home.”

“Huh? You live there?” Hinata asked.

“There’s a third floor and the company hasn’t expanded that far, so yes, I live there, Hinata. It’s either that or the streets with the salary I make,” he said, muttering the last part under his breath. “Anyway, that place is so huge, I’ve been looking for a tenant. I know it sucks living where you work, but it’s cheap.”

Keiji had been living alongside his so-called work for four years. The Bird in Hand would be nothing and it would be a relief to have his own space.

“If it’s not too much to ask.” He bowed in his seat. “I appreciate all of your help, Ukai-san.”

Ukai waved off his thanks. “Nah, you’ll just be doing me a favor.”

While Keiji was sure that was the case, he couldn’t help but think Kuroo was right. There might not be too many people like Ukai that would understand. That, and one thought of his own. The world might not be such a terrible place to come back to. Maybe it was possible to put himself back together here.

* * *

The apartment was cold and dark. The cold was probably just his imagination, but it also could’ve been the fact that he was lying on the floor and the wood was cold under his skin. As for the darkness, Atsumu was always up before the sun. It was a habit he could never quite break since moving to Capital City. He’d been here since before summer picked up, yet his internal alarm still wouldn’t shut up at him to wake up.

Usually, he’d take his time getting ready, watching the walls lighten as they reflected the morning sky outside. Then, he’d wander the city before it was time to head to work. He’d grown acquainted with city life quickly, finding the best places for the cheapest coffee or breakfast that tasted the best. Everything was so different from where he’d grown up.

Taking the train and leaving home, he’d allow himself to wallow in his fear between the second and third stops. Before then, he’d only been filled with excitement and relief at finally putting it all behind him, except then came the wallowing, thinking he’d be a fish out of water for sure and end up suffocating.

But it had passed by the time they reached the third town over. For the remainder of the train ride, he’d slept.

Now, all those months of hard work later, he’d normally be out the door by now, but instead he was laying in the middle of his cramped and empty apartment that felt too cold.

Maybe he wouldn’t go into work today. How could he face the others after yesterday?

They wouldn’t say anything, but they’d be thinking it. And he’d know that they were thinking it and that would make it all the worse. That shitty Oikawa would take him off letter writing and put him on addresses, and he’d have to see his shitty scrawl next to Sugawara’s perfect script until he’d eventually be taken off that, too, and he’d never be the best damn Bird and his life would be over. Then, moving here would’ve all amounted to a pointless endeavor.

Atsumu stared listlessly at his cracked and water stained ceiling. There were no patterns or meaning to be found up there. Preparing himself for that fate, he tried to become one with the nothingness around him that was his dumb apartment.

He pressed his arm over his eyes, grinding his teeth together.

If only he hadn’t spelled that lady’s name wrong, none of this would be happening!

He could still remember her returning to the office and Oikawa rewriting the entire letter for her. His life might as well be flushed down the toilet.

A knock came from his door and Atsumu froze, his train of thought derailed for the moment. Slowly, he lifted his arm from his face. No, it wasn’t time for work yet, and it wasn’t like he got any visitors. Come to think of it, nobody had once knocked on his door before.

Maybe it was that lady. Maybe she was related to his landlord and she was here to kick him out. Then his life really would be over.

Atsumu sat up. What a ridiculous thought. Still, he couldn’t help having it. He pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the room to his door.

Maybe someone from back home had found him and came all this way to tell him what a disgrace he was to have left.

Also unlikely, he thought as he opened the door.

“Oh, it’s just you, Sakusa.”

Over his facemask, Sakusa’s eyes squinted at him. “Letter.” He held the envelope out, pinching a corner between his gloved fingers.

Atsumu took it without giving it a second look. “That’s so nice of you, deliverin’ it to me all personal like,” he said with a smirk. He didn’t know Sakusa beyond him being the postman that had a thing about germs and had nevertheless taken the job, but it was easier to put himself back together when there was someone to be put together for.

After all, that’s what made being a Bird so easy. You put on a smile and deal with other people’s feelings for the day instead of your own.

“Your mail slot is rusted shut,” Sakusa said. “Why would I make a personal visit to someone I don’t know?”

That left Atsumu gaping. “What—you—we work together!”

Sakusa was squinting again, maybe frowning at him under his mask. “Huh, I thought Birds were supposed to be pretty or something,” he said dryly. “No wonder I didn’t recognize you.”

Atsumu could feel his face burning, mind flying over every step of his morning routine he’s skipped over. His hair must be a wreck, dark circles under his eyes. He’d never made it to bed last night, his anxiety making his body too heavy to move from the floor once he was down.

“Well,” Sakusa said, clearly bored and unaware of Atsumu’s internal crisis, “I have work. If you’re going to start getting letters now, fix your mail slot. I’ll shove it under your door next time.”

And he was off down the street, fetching mail from his bag for the next house.

With a sigh, Atsumu closed his door. Well, that settled that.

He was going to become the best damn Bird in the office, better even than Oikawa. Then, even someone like Sakusa would recognize how great he was, bedhead or no.

Atsumu turned the light on in the kitchen and set the letter down on the counter. Only when he did that did he notice the handwriting on the envelope with his address. He knew that handwriting, and it definitely wasn’t from anyone in the office. There wasn’t even a wax seal on the back, a telltale sign that it hadn’t been sent through a specific postal company that you’d find in one of the bigger cities now.

He glared at the envelope, flipping it every which way in his hand.

All these months, and a letter was all he could get? A crummy letter meant to ruin his day?

After all, he’d moved here to forget all that, and he’d been doing a pretty good job of that. But to randomly send a letter five, six months later. His glare sharpened.

“Tch.”

There was no way he was opening this now. He already knew this day would be cursed. He didn’t need this to make it worse.

Letting the envelope slip from his fingers back onto the counter, Atsumu left the kitchen and grabbed the clothes hanging on his closet door. In the bathroom, the mirror was permanently clouded, but it was enough for him to get his hair straighten out. It turned out his dark circles weren’t as bad as he’d feared, and if he pinched his cheeks a little, the color returned to his face.

The fancy clothes were another beast entirely. No matter how he was feeling, at least he could rely on them to make him look like he belonged with the other Birds, belonged in this city. They made his smile feel more real when he was chatting with a client in order to write their letter.

Still, he thought he might always feel like a pretender going to work in such fancy clothes, but then, he had to start over from scratch since coming to Capital City. Though the company had graciously provided him something that a Messenger Bird would wear in the beginning, the clothes in general were probably the biggest expense he’d spent his paycheck on since arriving here. But it was all a necessity to fitting in and living this new life.

Everything was neatly pressed, something he’d quickly picked up on when he’d started. There was the white button down. He’d been rolling the sleeves back ever since summer started. The dark gray vest went over that and matched the color of his slacks. A maroon blazer went with it all, but it was still too hot for that, no matter what the others did. Atsumu would sweat through it by the time he got to work.

The shoes he hated the most. If he ever had to walk anywhere farther than the office, he was guaranteed to have blisters by the end of the day. It made him miss having a good pair of working shoes, but the only thing he wore from home anymore was a bolo tie. Nothing special really, just black cord and a simple silver fastener. Nothing near as eye catching as the rest of his outfit.

But if you were writing an important letter for someone, they tended to want someone pretty and educated looking. Someone smiling and oozing confidence

And, besides his shameless confidence he wore on his sleeve, Atsumu was pretty sure he had a hard time fitting into any of those categories before he came here.

By the time he made it into work, the reception area was already bustling with its morning crowd. Hinata hurried past, arms stacked with packages nearly blocking his view. He still waved at Atsumu as he passed.

He liked the delivery team. As long as you were nice to them, they’d do all sorts of favors, such as making nasty phone calls to hunt down a missing address. Atsumu was grateful he at least had Hinata in his pocket whenever something like that came up. He hadn’t grown up with telephones, so the thought of making a call and not seeing someone’s face—or worse, someone going off of his voice alone—was a thing that filled him with dread.

Starting up the stairs, he spotted Sakusa exiting the delivery room, his own arms laden with boxes. Unlike how Hinata had barged his way through the crowd, calling out apologies and greetings in the same breath, Sakusa stuck to the walls.

Atsumu wondered briefly if he ever took that mask off, but with a shake of his head, he carried on up to the office.

“’Tsumu,” Oikawa greeted as Atsumu entered the office. “Good morning.”

Atsumu offered a pleasant smile in return. The bastard was dressed to the nines, not a thing out of place, acting like the summer sun didn’t exist. Oikawa dressed in the same color blue that matched the company’s colors. He was practically the face of the Birds after all. Most if not all the requests came to him, but that would change someday. It had to.

“The day’s just begun and yer headin’ out already?” Atsumu asked as Oikawa circled him for the door. “Or did ya sleep here again.”

Oikawa set his hands on his hips. “I slept at home, thank you very much.” He grinned like that was something to be proud of. “And yes, I’m off to see the president. We’re getting a new Bird today.”

Atsumu heard the clacking of typewriters behind him fall silent. It seemed Oikawa’s passing remark had garnered the entire office’s attention.

“How exciting,” Sugawara said pleasantly. “Where’s he from?”

“Don’t know,” Oikawa said.

“Do we need another member?” Kageyama asked in his typical blunt fashion.

Atsumu wheezed a laugh into his fist.

“To be fair,” Sugawara said, “on our slow days, even just the four of us can feel like a lot. Like there’s not enough work to go around.”

“True, true, Suga-san,” Oikawa said, turning fully to address the group. “However, with just the number of requests that came in today, it’s not a bad idea to think of the future and how we plan to grow moving forward. Also, you remember how backed up we were when Tobio-chan was on the other side of the country for that request. If the demand for traveling picks up, it’ll be good to have more Birds to fill in the holes at the office.”

Humming, Sugawara nodded in agreement.

Oikawa clapped his hands together before opening the door. “That’s that. I’ll be a minute. Make sure to put on a nice smile for our new Bird.”

Atsumu went to his desk near Sugawara and Kageyama. Even Sugawara who was the oldest went along with Oikawa. Atsumu slouched in his chair. There’d be nothing to do until Oikawa came back and handed out the requests, which would be interrupted throughout the day as customers came in.

“This is exciting,” Sugawara said with a smile that made even Atsumu relax and get over his dumb mood. “We haven’t had anyone new since you, Miya.”

Grinning, Atsumu sat up straighter. “That’s because y’didn’t need anyone else once I was part of the team.”

“But now we do. Does that mean you suck?” Kageyama asked.

Atsumu’s smile flashed into a scowl. “No, you dumbass. That’s obviously not what I meant.”

Sugawara chuckled, shaking his head at them.

Kageyama had the ability to be so oblivious and blunt at the same time, it was a wonder he could write the kind of letters he did. Honestly, he was the second highest requested, right behind Oikawa.

And of course that made Atsumu’s blood boil. Kageyama was only better because he’d been here before Sugawara and him.

But Sugawara’s easy laugh lifted the tension. “You two will have to work hard to be good mentors for the new guy,” he said.

Kageyama nodded. “You too. Do your best, Suga-san.”

But Sugawara waved him off. “No, no, I’m sure he’s a great writer, if the president recruited him. I mostly stick to addresses and invitation lists and filing documents.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Atsumu said. And then the door opened.

“I’m back,” Oikawa said with a wave, and the three of them stood. “Meet Akaashi Keiji.”

The dark-haired man behind him gave a low bow and a murmured, “Pleasure to be working with you.”

Compared to the rest of the Birds, Akaashi wasn’t nearly as flashy. His clothes didn’t seem to fit him right—they were too big—and they were plain. Face-wise, he was handsome enough. As long as he could write well, he’d have no problem getting some eventual requests. That is, once Oikawa meddled, doing what he did best. After all, they were eye-catching to draw in requests—Sugawara in his brown suit, Kageyama in black and navy blue—dressed in the best for the sake of being professional. Oikawa had spouted out something along those lines when Atsumu first started working. Something about this being a new company and how they needed to dress to impress, to tell people that they were the real deal, and to please use their services.

Akaashi wasn’t there yet, but Atsumu knew it wouldn’t be much of a wait.

“I’m going to get Akaashi-kun here set up on a typewriter to practice,” Oikawa said, steering Akaashi to an empty desk. “Oh, ‘Tsumu, you were the last with the typing manual, weren’t you? May we borrow it?”

“Sure, sure,” Atsumu said, opening his desk drawer to rifle through it. “Ya think there’d be more’n one in the office.”

“Sorry, I’ve never worked a typewriter before,” Akaashi said.

Oikawa laughed it off and took the manual Atsumu held out for him. “None of us did before working here either,” he said. “Now, it’s all we use. I’m sure you’ll be a fast learner.”

A few years ago, it would’ve been unheard of for a business to have a single typewriter. The ones put out were too expensive and hard to make, and even those were poorly made and hard to operate compared to what they had now. They still weren’t common enough to be found in every household you came across, but they made typing letters so much easier, it was a no-brainer that blooming postal companies would jump on them.

Atsumu hadn’t even seen one before he came to the city.

“You’ll wanna take those gloves off,” he said to Akaashi as he sat down at the desk next to him. “The keys’re a bit spaced out. It’s better if you can stretch out yer fingers.” He spread his fingers over his own typewriter for example.

Akaashi nodded and went to remove his gloves.

Atsumu was not ready for what was underneath. He’d figured Akaashi was on the careful side—not as far as Sakusa maybe—but people only wore gloves in this heat if they had a reason.

Akaashi’s reason, apparently, was that he didn’t have hands. Or rather, he had metal prosthetics in place of hands. Seeing them move on their own set Atsumu’s teeth on edge.

There was only silence in the room, and even though they were professionals and knew better than to stare, they couldn’t help it. At Akaashi’s calm composure, Atsumu assumed he was used to this.

“That’s some shit luck,” slipped from Atsumu’s lips before he could think better of it.

Oikawa whacked him on top of the head with the stack of typing paper he held. “You know, ‘Tsumu, for a Bird, you certainly have a trashy mouth.” He passed to the other side of Akaashi. “Will you have any trouble typing?” he asked. His kind tone shocked Atsumu, halting a comeback from leaving his lips.

“No. The president told me about the typewriters yesterday. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Akaashi said.

“Don’t push yourself,” Sugawara said with a smile. “And don’t be afraid to ask for help. We’re a bit of a family here in the writing department. I’m Sugawara Koushi, by the way, but everyone calls me Suga.”

“Kageyama Tobio,” Kageyama said with a stiff bow from his seat. “Nice to meet you.”

Atsumu wanted to slap himself in the face. He’d expected as much from Sugawara, but even Kageyama could be the slightest bit polite when he needed to be.

So, he gave Akaashi his smoothest, most charming smile, the one he reserved for clients. “I’m Miya Atsumu. Pleasure’s mine.”

While Akaashi inclined his head at the three of them, Oikawa snickered into his hand. Behind Atsumu, Suga laughed lightly. Kageyama blinked, stoic as ever, but Atsumu still bristled.

“’Tsumu, ‘Tsumu, you’re as genuine as a fox,” Oikawa said with a smile and Atsumu scowled.

“Aw c’mon, leave me alone.” He turned away. “Works on the clients,” he muttered under his breath and Sugawara patted his shoulder in teasing sympathy, something only he could pull off and not get a rise out of the others.

“Let me get Akaashi-kun set up, and then I’ll get the requests handed out for the day,” Oikawa continued, pulling up a chair next to Akaashi. “Why don’t you three keep working on the Mayor’s invitation list?”

Sugawara led the way to the back of the office where all their work from the past week sat. This was probably their biggest job yet. It wasn’t hard to write the same invitation over and over again, but it sure was exhausting, especially when they kept getting interrupted with other requests.

Humming thoughtfully, Sugawara observed their progress so far. “Kageyama, why don’t you write the last few invitations? I’ll keep doing addresses, and Miya can stuff and seal the envelopes,” he said as he grabbed a stack of new envelopes. “We might be able to finish before the afternoon and have them all sent out tomorrow. That puts us ahead of schedule.”

It was the usual way work was split up. Sugawara had the nicest penmanship, but he was slow at typing. Kageyama was the fastest at typing, beating even Oikawa, but his customer service could use the most work. Still, the blunt way he asked questions often got more information out of the client than trying to coddle them into saying what they really wanted to put into the letter. Atsumu’s typing was average, but his handwriting was horrendous, using Oikawa’s words. His people skills flipped back and forth on any given day. Some days he was as smooth as Oikawa, but on others, he could rub people the wrong way and end up pissing them off. It was worse than Kageyama because even Kageyama’s bluntness had a hint of innocence behind it that made him easier to forgive.

The office was soon filled with the sound of typing and the shuffling of papers. On the other side of the shelves, Akaashi was working away, his typing interrupted sometimes with Oikawa’s words of instruction or advice. Kageyama typed without pause, eyes flicking between the invitation he was writing and the first one they’d typed up as a draft. The only thing that needed changing was the recipient’s name.

Atsumu carefully folded each invitation into thirds before slipping them into the waiting envelopes, already addressed and the ink dried. Then, he heated the wax, dripped it onto the envelope, and pressed the company’s seal. His task was the most time consuming, and eventually, Sugawara came to help him finish.

“I’m guessing you’ve cooled off from yesterday then?” he asked in a low voice. “Mostly?”

“Pssh—” Atsumu blew out of the coroner of his mouth “—yeah, whatever.”

Sugawara smiled. He was always doing that, like everything was all fine and dandy. “The world doesn’t end over one mistake, you know. Be easier on yourself.”

“Whatever you say, Suga-san,” Atsumu said, but he couldn’t help his own smile down at the freshly sealed envelope in his hands.

Sugawara jostled him with his elbow. “I mean it. We all make mistakes. I know I do. Kageyama does, too. Even Oikawa.”

“Hmm.” Atsumu glanced over his shoulder at Kageyama diligently typing away. “I don’t think Tobio-kun actually realizes when he makes a mistake.”

Snorting, Suga elbowed him again, harder this time. “He’s still pretty young, but he’ll get there. Well, as long as you don’t keep sinking to his level to tease him.”

“Tch.” But Atsumu’s smile became more genuine. His rising and falling anxieties aside, he was glad he worked here. For once, he didn’t mind those he worked with. Ignoring their constant teasing, he would have never made it in this city without them.

That meant Akaashi would be fine, too.

Atsumu wondered what kind of person he was. It was clear the fading war had left its marks on him. Atsumu didn’t quite care to know what had happened. Everyone had their own sob story that led them to the Bird in Hand Postal Company. Despite his best efforts to remain ignorant, he knew bits and pieces about most of the guys.

Sugawara had been a teacher up north along the border. Kageyama had dropped out of school to work here, though you couldn’t tell just by looking at him. They were both smart and capable, which was why they had survived any hardships life had thrown at them and ended up here.

And Oikawa probably had something in his past, too, but Atsumu didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of the others’ tragic backstories and he wouldn’t care about anyone else’s. Not Akaashi’s with his hands or Sugawara’s sudden move here. He didn’t care why Kageyama or Hinata in the delivery department were working when they were so young, not even eighteen. And he didn’t care about Sakusa who walked along walls far away from everyone else, always wearing that mask and those gloves.

That was all way too much baggage. How was one person expected to carry it all?

So, Atsumu concerned himself with the present. The past had already happened and it was annoying to keep thinking about. He was who he was now. So were the rest of his coworkers. If he set his gaze only on the future, then he’d only have to worry about the happy life he was going to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've been having a lot of fun with this fic and I can't wait to keep working on it.
> 
> Thanks to those who left kudos and comments. I really appreciate it! And I continue to look forward to what you think ^^
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://silentmarco.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

Keiji wished he could stop having dreams, but most importantly, he wished those dreams would stop being nightmares. He wished he could stop waking up disoriented and lost, expecting to see different surroundings than an empty room.

The fact was, Keiji had never slept well at the nunnery to begin with, but his body had been so fatigued as it put itself back together and learned to deal with its new appendages, that it had been impossible to keep himself awake most of the time. Thanks to the doctor’s medicine, most of the time it was a dreamless sleep. He wished he could reclaim some semblance to that kind of rest, but pills cost money and that was just not something he had right now.

It was on Kuroo’s couch that he’d suffered the worst of it. It was somewhere entirely different, and he was surprised he didn’t end up falling over the side of it.

He could manage the odd lumpiness of the cushions and the strange smell of it, but the second the dreams woke him up, he was lost in the darkness of that room.

And it was happening all over again at the Bird in Hand.

The room was quaint. It had a writing desk, a light, and a fully made bed. The third level was split, Ukai’s room and washroom on one side, Keiji’s on the other. There was a makeshift kitchen in between that had been installed during the early renovation of turning the mansion into a place of business.

On his first evening being introduced to the place, Keiji had dubbed it a perfect fit. It was exactly what he needed right now.

But now—

Keiji had gotten out of bed and swung the window open over his desk. The soft summer breeze drifted in. The room had been cleaned, but it still smelled like a place that no one had inhabited in a long time. The scent of dust and still air lingered.

No, it was still perfect.

Keiji got up to sit cross-legged on his bare desk in front of the window.

He was the one that needed to adjust. Eventually, he would stop thinking about the things that were causing his bad dreams. After all, it was his fleeting thoughts during the day coming back to haunt him at night.

And it had been his own fault, too. There was no point in getting worried about things he couldn’t control or change simply because they were unknowns. He just had to go off thinking about Bokuto earlier in the day. Wondering where he was or how he was or if he was still somewhere to begin with wasn’t going change anything no matter how much he thought on it.

He needed to write a letter and then—and then…

He needed to really focus on writing a letter and then he’d figure out what the next step was. Keiji didn’t have any addresses from back home. He wasn’t even sure if there was somewhere to write back to anymore. Maybe everyone was gone.

But he needed to stop wondering about that so his mind would stop trying to supply him horrifying answers in his sleep.

He gasped out a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it, hunched over with his hands gripping his hair.

Slowly, one finger at a time, he released his hands, bringing them to his lap. He sat up straight, arching his back until it cracked, and then relaxed into a better position. He opened his eyes to look out at the city.

It was dark, still asleep. All of the street lamps had been extinguished for the night. The sky was black, no hint of morning yet. Keiji could only make out the barest silhouettes of buildings.

Today was a new day, and even if the next night would bring a similar outcome, things were changing when the sun was up. Keiji was sitting in a place he could now call home with a new job that he might actually be suited for.

Yesterday, he’d become a Bird. Maybe today his life would start feeling new. Maybe they could teach him to fly so he wouldn’t feel so tethered to everything the war had done. And then maybe there was a chance things could go back to the way they once were.

* * *

It was another early morning, but at least it was the normal type of early. That meant plenty of people were already out and about on their commutes. Among them, Atsumu had his blazer on only because it was looking to be a windy, overcast type of day. Technically, he was heading in the opposite direction for work, but he still had time.

He passed through downtown and the shops and cafes that were opening up. He had no appetite, so he kept moving.

A few streets over was the entertainment district, full of clubs and bars that were deserted at this time of day, but one of the city’s gems—though empty and dark now—had a secret in the early mornings.

Because Atsumu had always liked getting into places he wasn’t allowed—or probably wasn’t—it wasn’t like there was a list of rules around. However, he figured a place that had him climbing a fire escape to crawl through a window with a broken lock was probably off limits. Especially when the doors downstairs were secured.

He’d perfected it enough times that he could get in without a single smudge, a single thread out of place.

It was Capital City’s Concert Hall. Across the street was the theater, but the concert hall was special, the real gem of the city in both architecture and grandeur, especially now that the war was over. Its lights shown every night with some kind of show happening inside.

Atsumu preferred it in the morning, mostly because there was still the thrill of sneaking into the upper floors. It was all storage up there, nobody was ever around. It was dark and dusty, too, but he found his way no problem.

And then there was the catwalk, the beams and tiny walkways that ran over the stage. Most mornings at least somebody would be practicing down below. He could sit on the edge, feet dangling over the side and leaning on the lower railing, and listen. Sometimes it was a violinist, sometimes a celloist. Today, a man was sitting at the piano, pouring over sheet music. He must’ve just sat down.

Now, Atsumu was definitely not a romantic, but once he’d found out he could get a free show, well, he came when he had time. Sometimes he’d even squeeze in a short nap.

To be honest, he didn’t even like the music they played. It was all the same. They were part of the orchestra that performed here every so often. Each musician was talented, sure, but the music itself was just…slow. It was sad. Sometimes it dragged.

It depressed the hell out of him.

And he thought they’d eventually have to play something new, but no, every time he stopped by it was the same crap. Artfully composed to pull on the heartstrings of whoever listened, and he wanted to vomit.

Where was the fun, carefree type of music? Atsumu used to really like music—dammit, he still did—if only the music here could stand to lighten up a bit.

But he still continued to come. After all, grand orchestra pieces weren’t composed in a night. Maybe one of these days the composer would take a hint that the world was moving on. There wasn’t space for all these feelings, not when there was work to be done.

Plus, tickets were expensive, and early morning shows like this one were free.

Atsumu continued to sit on the edge of the walkway and listen to the pianist build this mountain of emotion meant to mow down anyone in its path.

He didn’t stick around long though, just long enough for him to get annoyed. Just long enough for him to want to go running to his job and the letters he would have to write, full of their subtle phrasings and carefully crafted. Nothing like this music with its one-track mind.

He returned down the hall he came from, through the window that didn’t lock, and back down the fire escape, only slipping a little on the stairs. He would do a much better job of it with proper shoes.

Cursing under his breath and checking for any kind of dirty or grime on his pants, Atsumu circled around to the front of the building. He was completely inconspicuous—probably—but that might be due to his fancy get-up. People didn’t question you so much if you were dressed well.

He stopped short at the bottom of the concrete stairs when he spied a familiar face.

It was Sakusa, slipping a letter into the concert hall’s mail slot on the front door. Atsumu grinned and hurried to catch up before he could slink off into the growing foot traffic.

“Hey, Sakusa,” he called. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

Sakusa turned to stare down at him, stopping Atsumu halfway up the steps. Someone should draw a scowl on that facemask of his, he thought. He always seemed to be scowling. Atsumu jogged the rest of the way up so they were out of the way of the morning commuters.

“Didn’t know this place was on yer route,” he continued when he was closer. “Headin’ back?”

“Special delivery from the president. And yes, I’m going to pick up the second batch of letters,” Sakusa said, starting his way down to the sidewalk.

Heaving a sigh at the stairs he’d just climbed, Atsumu followed. “What a coincidence. I’ll join ya.”

Sakusa made a sharp turn on him at the bottom, nearly causing Atsumu to tumble backwards. “Are you ill?”

Atsumu heisted. “Uh, what?”

“Are. You. Ill?” Sakusa’s eyes narrowed at him, each annunciated word lost its bite muffled under the mask.

Grinning, Atsumu puffed out his chest. “Never been sick a day my life.”

“Well,” Sakusa muttered, walking off, “as long as you’re not physically sick, I guess that’s fine.”

“Physically,” Atsumu sputtered. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Walk behind me,” Sakusa continued, pretending not to hear him. “You’re covered in dust, you know. It’s going to bother the hell out of my allergies. I’ll be sneezing all day.”

Letting out an undignified snort, Atsumu hurried to brush the dust from his shoulders. So, he could get in and out without any stains or pulled threads, he couldn’t really help the dust.

When he looked up again, he realized Sakusa had already gone off without him.

“Y’know,” he huffed, picking up his pace, “I always thought you were kinda quiet, but it turns out yer a real pain in the ass, aren’tcha Omi-kun?”

“Do _not_ call me that,” Sakusa said, not looking at him.

There was something familiar about teasing Sakusa that Atsumu didn’t get out of the other Birds. Even Kageyama, who came close, was too oblivious for his own good. It made Atsumu wonder why it had taken this long to run into Sakusa until now. Twice in as many days, that was quite a bit for two people in opposite departments.

Of course, Atsumu hadn’t received any mail before.

He cringed at the thought of the letter that awaited him at home, still unopened.

“Okay, Omi-Omi, how did someone like you end up with a job like this?”

Sakusa rolled his eyes at his progressing nickname. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

Atsumu stuck his tongue out.

Sakusa was clearly not amused. “The odd hours work for me. Less people out, and it’s perfectly fine if you take the necessary precautions.”

“Pretty sure yer the only one takin’ ‘em, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said with a laugh. “So, what, four to noon? Sounds like a nightmare of a sleep schedule to me.”

By the way he caught Sakusa’s eyes crinkling, Atsumu wondered if he was actually giving him somewhat of a smile. Not a nice one—maybe a smirk—but still.

And yet, Atsumu had the undeniable urge to punch him.

“Yes, because you seem like the type to roll right out of bed and into work, right, Miya?” he said. “In any case, it sure looks that way.”

Ah, so that was where the urge came from.

Atsumu ran a hand through his hair. “I know, it must be hard takin’ time to put yerself together each and every day and not even come close to such a prime example of beauty.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“I am—the prettiest.”

“Disgusting.”

Laughing, Atsumu grabbed the door to hold open. Who would’ve thought he’d be laughing on his way to work with clean-freak Sakusa of all people? Despite Sakusa seeming to hold no interest in their conversation. Well, maybe Atsumu was just in a good mood. There was no crippling existential crisis this morning. That was a plus. Besides, he figured Sakusa could’ve easily stopped replying back at the concert hall.

“Off to do some important work, Mr. halfway-done-with-his-shift,” he said with a wave.

Shaking his head at him, Sakusa tucked his hands into his pockets and went along the walls to the delivery room. Atsumu only realized after he was gone that he’d paused on the steps to watch.

Dumb, and just because someone found him a different kind of annoying. He smirked at the closed doors before continuing the rest of the way upstairs. At this rate, he probably wouldn’t let up until one of his coworkers punched him square in the mouth. That, or pester Sakusa until he went too far and Atsumu was the one doing the punching. Either way, it was all in good fun, teetering the edge or until something broke.

“Oh, ‘Tsumu, just in time,” Oikawa greeted as he walked into the Birds’ office. He held up a slip of paper. “There’s a request for you.”

Atsumu brightened. “Really?”

“Well, no,” Oikawa hummed, and Atsumu deflated, gritting his teeth at him. “But no one else can go, so you can think of it being at my request if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t.” Atsumu snatched the paper from his fingers and scanned it over. The address wasn’t too far away, but that meant there was no excuse to take the tram. He could feel the blisters already. “What’s everyone else doin’?”

“I’m out for the morning, so Suga-san’s in charge. Tobio-chan is here in case we have any walk-ins, which means you were the only man for the job,” Oikawa said sweetly. “I’m taking Keiji-chan shopping. He’s kind of like you were, ‘Tsumu. Not a sensible thread to his name.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll make him all pretty enough to work here.”

Oikawa winked. “Naturally.”

Requested or not, Atsumu was happy to be doing work out of the office. It got too stifling in there sometimes, especially if they were all working on something at once. The clacking would fill the room along with soft murmured voices until he about lost his mind.

He liked the quiet, at least when he was busy with work. That was something that had changed since coming to the city. He used to despise the quiet, wanting to fill every crevice with noise and distractions, but now that the city had done exactly that, drowned out every single thought he didn’t want to hear, he wouldn’t mind a tiny bit of peace and quiet so he could at least do his writing properly.

That was probably why he ended up spelling that lady’s name wrong the other day.

The typewriter carrying cases were like oversized suitcases. Everyone hated toting them around besides Atsumu. They weren’t that heavy.

“Maybe it’s because you’re so strong, ‘Tsumu,” Oikawa had said the first time Atsumu had criticized about their complaining. Well, Atsumu had his upbringing to thank for that. Sugawara and Kageyama hadn’t done real manual labor a day in their lives.

But he could tell, Oikawa only complained for the sake of complaining. He was the only other one to carry typewriters around like it wasn’t a total pain. And Atsumu hated that.

“I’m headin’ out,” Atsumu called from the door. “Have a good day.”

“Have a good day,” chorused Sugawara and Kageyama from farther back in the room where he couldn’t see. He eyed Oikawa who was closing in.

“We’re all going out tonight,” he said in a lower voice. “The entire department received an invite to a show tonight at the concert hall.”

“How come?” Atsumu asked. “What’s the catch?”

Oikawa snorted, giving him that smile Atsumu despised. The better-than-thou smile that Atsumu even wondered if Oikawa was aware of. “There is no catch, silly ‘Tsumu. The owner just requested me for a job and decided to invite the whole lot of us out. You know he’s a pretty big sponsor of the company.”

“Yeah, so? You do jobs for him all the time.”

“And I go to shows all the time. So?” Oikawa said, throwing the word right back at him. “It’s someone doing a nice thing. Can’t you take it as that?”

“Hey, you won’t catch me turnin’ up my nose at free shit.” Atsumu switched the case to his other hand. “Just didn’t think you’d wanna spend so much quality time with us, Oikawa-san,” he teased.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it. Just watch that mouth of yours, ‘Tsumu. I’d hate for you to scare off a precious client.”

Atsumu’s smile dropped. “Like I’m not a professional.”

Lifting a hand in a wave, Oikawa’s smile only grew. “Bye-bye.”

Anyone could tell Atsumu wasn’t born and raised in Capital City, not even close. He’d done his best to hide that in order to get the job, but then, about a month in, he was having a heated debate with Hinata over something or other, and it just slipped out. From the way he talked, there was no doubt. He was from the northwestern part of the country in a little nowhere town that was not even close to city-size. In fact, the house he’d grown up in was at least a mile from the closest neighbor.

After that, there was no point in keeping it from the other Birds, or his coworkers in general. He didn’t have to come right out and say it, but he could stop hiding it. The only real need to make the effort was for the clients. Nobody wanted an improper, foul-mouthed screwup to be writing their important letters. So, he had to become someone who matched the feathers the Birds wore.

Of course, deciding that didn’t suddenly make it easier.

Sighing, he located the home and reached up to knock on the door. Hopefully, this would be over quickly. Being inside other people’s houses weirded him out to not end. It was a win-lose situation really. Getting out of the office meant escaping the constant bickering and teasing of the others—which, if he wasn’t mixed up in the middle of it, what was the point—but playing the social game on uncharted territory was just asking for anxiety.

A woman a few years younger than him opened the door and her eyes widened, red lips parted. Her brown hair was bobbed with a bow in one side. The amount of makeup she had on seemed to make her younger than its desired effect.

Atsumu allowed his features to relax into that easygoing smile he’d used on Akaashi just yesterday. It made his spine crawl.

“Messenger Bird Miya Atsumu at your service,” he said, giving a flourish of a bow before tipping his head up at her. “I will travel as far as you wish to write your letter and see that it’s delivered.”

The woman pressed both hands over her lips, but they did nothing to hide her pleased grin. Inwardly, Atsumu barfed.

“Please, come in,” she said hurriedly and opened the door farther. “I was told when to expect you and here you are, right on the dot.”

Continuing to babble on, she led him through the apartment to a table that was thankfully already cleared. Somewhere in all of her talking, she said her name, but it was lost on Atsumu. He was too busy smiling, nodding, and unpacking his things.

She hovered as he sat down.

“Would you like tea? Anything to drink? To eat?” she asked. “It may get close to lunchtime by the time you finish. I could prepare us something.”

“How about we get started on writing and see how it goes from there?” he asked the moment she broke up her words to breathe. He fed the typing paper into the machine and placed his hands over the keys. “What kind of letter do you want to write?”

“Oh, it’s to my sister, Atsumu-san.” She hurried to sit herself into the chair next to him.

Atsumu’s jaw twitched with his clenched teeth under his frozen smile. She thought she could just use his name so easily? While she spelled out the recipient’s name, he made sure his smile didn’t falter from lips, showing her the page for confirmation.

“Alright, where would you like to start.”

Humming, she tapped a finger to her lip. “Well, it’s been a while, you know? I’m not really sure what to say,” she said. “That’s why I saved up to hire a Bird. I thought that would make it sound more confident, like I knew what I was doing.”

Smile slipping from his lips as he waited, Atsumu tapped his fingers absently along the keys. What was the first thing you said to a person after a long time apart?

“How about asking how she’s been?” the woman finally said. “I think that’s a good start.”

Atsumu blinked at her. Was that really enough? Didn’t it seem a little generic when you were trying to reach out to a person so far in the past? Maybe that person hadn’t thought about you once in all that time, you think they won’t scoff at a simple how are you?

“You see, I want to tell her that I miss her and that I’m sorry I haven’t reached out sooner. I just—didn’t know what to say. And I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly. I never told her that,” the woman continued, and Atsumu began to type. “But I’m the eldest, so I felt I had to find a better job.”

_Dear Sister—_

_How are you? You have been in my thoughts since I left, and while I miss the comforts of home, I miss being by your side the most. We’re supposed to look out for each other, but I couldn’t do that back home. But decisions have to be made fast sometimes, so I can’t regret the choice I made. I hope you’ll understand that someday._

“Because our dad was laid off before the war ended. I know the job I work at now doesn’t pay very much—oh no, don’t tell her that. Then she’ll wonder what the point of me leaving was.”

Atsumu paused, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Another dumb excuse letter from someone scrambling to abandon a sinking ship of a family. Maybe she thought she could make it big. This was a nice apartment. Atsumu wondered if she was even sending anything back at all. Actually, she’d wasted money on a Bird instead.

_Lame._

Atsumu bristled at the voice in his head. He didn’t need that now. Not after going so long without hearing it.

Because that voice was gone. It wasn’t like he had to hear it every day. It was just trapped in his head now, which meant he had the power to shut it up.

_Screwup._

“—And I wonder how that guy at the convenience store is. My sister always teased me about having a crush on him, but I didn’t! Oh, that’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe I just said that. Don’t put that in!”

Giving his head a shake, Atsumu brought his attention back to his typewriter. He read over the last sentence.

“Uh, just tell her I’ll send them what I can for now, okay?”

_It’s not much, but I will continue to support you and our family to the best of my ability. Though it has taken me a while to write to you, I hope that if you need anything, you won’t hesitate to write._

“Ask her to tell Mom and Dad I love them and to make sure she’s still going to school. She kept trying to argue that she’d drop out to help before I left. Yeah, definitely make sure that’s in there.”

_Please continue your studies. Your education is important to me, and I could never forgive myself if you dropped out for a job._

“We’re a family and we support each other. I don’t want her to feel guilty. I won’t be gone forever.”

_Mom, Dad, and I will support you no matter what, so please take your time growing up. I won’t be gone forever._

_Give my love to Mom and Dad._

Atsumu looked up. “Is that it?”

She nodded.

 _With love_ , Atsumu tagged at the end and asked the woman to spell her name so she wouldn’t realize he’d forgotten it. Finished, he pulled the paper from the typewriter and handed it to her.

“Let me know what you think,” he said. “If there’s any phrasing that’s off or something you’d like to add, I can draw up another copy with the changes.”

But she was already shaking her head, eyes running over the letter. “No, no, it’s perfect!” She grinned. “It’s exactly what I wanted to say, and you made me sound so sophisticated and grown up. She’ll never get over it.”

Atsumu smiled, more out of relief than anything else.

She held the paper up to cover her face. “I was going to tell her about the handsome man that wrote the letter, but then that’d be so embarrassing. Not only having you write it, but then she’d know I couldn’t write to her myself.” She squealed in embarrassment, and Atsumu fought off the urge to gag and roll his eyes. He had already mentally left the room. Now that the letter was finished, he just couldn’t escape fast enough. Man, today had started off so well, too.

“If you like, I’ll make sure the letter is mailed at the office,” he said, holding out his hand.

She returned it to him, brushing their fingers together in the exchanged. She blushed, he stretched his grin wider and tucked the letter into his case.

“Oh, that’s right, would you like some lunch before you go?” she asked, jumping to her feet as he began packing up.

“No, thank you,” was his stiff reply. “Unfortunately, I have work to return to.”

“Aww,” she groaned, leaning over onto the back of her chair. “Already? I’d say you did your job too fast.”

“What can I say? I’m the best you’ll have.”

She giggled into her hands, blush rising to her cheeks again, and Atsumu wanted to smack himself in the face.

_Couldja get any lamer?_

“I’ll make sure to request you next time, Atsumu-san,” she said sweetly. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need, no need,” Atsumu breathed, but that didn’t stop her from hovering over him again as he replaced his shoes onto his aching feet. And he probably should’ve left it at that, but there was something in him that just couldn’t help it. “Next time, don’t worry about wearing so much makeup,” he said, turning back to her and straightening to his full height. “This isn’t a date. Though I’m happy to work with you again, all the unnecessary chatter is annoying and hinders the writing process.”

Then, her face was flushing for an entirely different reason. Turning to go, Atsumu couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk at leaving her gaping behind him like a goldfish. Then, a high-pitched huff and the door slammed shut.

Sure, their approach to charm clients to use their services was certainly paying off, but it didn’t lessen how it made his skin itch. Oikawa might have said he had a foul mouth, but nothing made his mouth feel dirtier than the shit he had to come up with to say to clients, especially the women living alone who were much more interested in flirting than writing the letter they were paying for.

And he hadn’t pissed a client off in about a week, so he’d been due.

But really, what didn’t they get? This was a job, and although it was dressed to look like a charming prince coming to write the perfect fairytale love letter, a job was all it was. And Atsumu was sick of jumping through hoops and playing pretend while the actual work went to the wayside.

He wanted to be the best, to be known for writing the best letters. Maybe he just hadn’t considered the social game of playing house with a client. He gritted his teeth at the thought. Shouldn’t matter. Good writing should just speak for itself, he figured.

At the very least, his little outburst had shut up that voice in his head.

* * *

Keiji wasn’t so sure he liked what he saw in the mirror. It had been a long while since he’d had a chance to look at himself so closely, so maybe it was the uneasiness of having his own eyes staring back so intensely, scrutinizing every detail.

Or maybe it was the fact that he felt like a doll playing dress-up.

Either way, every part of him was a stranger. He’d been of average build at eighteen before he left home, but then, through the military, he’d put on some muscle weight, broadened out his shoulders, got a bit taller. But now, scrawny was the only word coming to mind. He lost a lot of weight in the past few months and had done nothing to maintain those muscles. That wasn’t even including how thin his arms were now.

And that was all on display both when he had disrobed to try on the new clothes Oikawa had sent him back with and when he put them on. They were tighter than what he’d been wearing during his recovery, clinging to his skeletal arms.

The black shirt was made of nice material. He pressed it against his face and breathed in the expensive smell of new clothes out of his price range. The buttons on the sleeves fastened snugly against his metal wrists. This was the shirt that had been tailored after their stop here earlier in the day. It meant if he ever had to roll his sleeves back, they would stay in place and not unravel and fall like his other shirts did.

Oikawa had bypassed any jackets or coats after the first one he had Keiji try. He said it made him look like he was swimming in fabric, so he went with a green vest so dark that it nearly blended it with his shirt. Then, there was the tightly pressed pants, also tailored from earlier, and the shoes that didn’t really bend with his feet when he walked. Oikawa insisted he’d break them in eventually.

This was all for work, not combat. He wasn’t going to be trekking through mud or throwing himself to the ground during an ambush. They didn’t need to be durable. They just needed to look nice.

His hair had been trimmed and he looked way more put together than he felt, which then also made him look a bit like a disaster. Apparently, that was an unfounded opinion because Oikawa only clapped and praised his new look. Maybe it was the dark circles and lack of sleep. Oikawa didn’t mention those.

“Is this really okay?” Keiji asked back in his own clothes while Oikawa was paying for everything. “Not just skipping half a day of work, but this is all so expensive.”

Oikawa waved him off as he took the garment bag from the cashier. Even the bag looked expensive and Keiji wanted to pull his hair out just looking at it.

“Don’t worry, Keiji-chan,” he sang. “And it’s not just me or the company, but we all pitched in.”

Keiji followed him out of the shop and into the busy streets. “What?” he asked. “But why?”

“Because that’s what we do here. We support each other,” Oikawa said. “We’ve all been in a similar position before, or still are. Nobody has gone unaffected by the war, so of course, we’re going to help each other out. Besides—” he cleared his throat “—this _is_ work. We have to make you look like a Bird if you’re going to be one.”

“Is it really as easy as putting on new clothes?”

Ahead of him, Oikawa hummed before glancing over his shoulder. “No,” he said, “but it’s a start.”

Keiji wasn’t so sure about that yet. After all, he felt like he’d been stuck at the starting line since June. A whole summer stuck waiting and waiting, just to step forward again.

“In any case,” Oikawa continued, “there’s also a training course I’d like to send you to, if you’re up for the traveling.”

“Training course,” he repeated, pausing in his steps. There was more to this job than he first thought. First the expensive clothes, and now training. Not only that, but exactly how far was he expected to travel?

Oikawa stopped as well, turning back. “All of the Birds have had some kind of training. ‘Tsumu was the most recent, but Tobio-chan and Suga-san have taken courses as well, though they were both done locally to speed up the process. They were our first hires.”

“Oikawa-san, I would be honored to take classes, but I really don’t have the money—”

“It’s no issue,” Oikawa interrupted and stared down at him. Under those eyes, Keiji realized just how two-sided Oikawa was, from his flippant, happy-go-lucky nature he’d first experienced in the office, to now, an intense demeaner that refused to overlook even the slightest detail. “Writing letters is something that has not been so widely done among civilians, let alone writing letters for other people. It’s a complicated process, understanding how a person feels and taking a convoluted conversation with someone you don’t know and turning it into a letter with the intended voice that also reaches the heart of the matter at their request.”

Keiji tried his best to keep eye contact.

“It’s a new profession and the training can be touch and go, but there are places out there that offer guidance,” Oikawa continued. “At the very least, you will come out of the experience with your typing improved, though you’ve already shown promise just one day in.”

“If that’s the case, then I’d be happy to learn more. Anything to perform my duties better and be of use to the company.” Because, if Ukai hadn’t stepped up, Keiji wasn’t sure where he’d be. Probably still on Kuroo’s couch.

Oikawa blinked at him, and Keiji had to wonder if he said something odd. But then it passed, and Oikawa gestured with his head that they keep walking.

“There’s a university up north,” he said. “We received a request from a professor there to send a Bird willing to do some scribing work. You wouldn’t be writing letters right away, so I figured it would make good practice alongside your studies. Two birds, one stone.” Oikawa’s grin faltered. “Er, one Bird, two jobs done.”

Keiji nodded. “And the traveling won’t be a problem.”

Clapping his hands together, Oikawa had his smile back. “Great! We’ll give it a few days, that way you can still get your feet under you. We’ll have you continue practicing your typing, maybe shadow some of the other Birds—oh! And before I forget.”

“What is it?”

“All of us Birds are going to a concert tonight. Think of it like a perk to the job,” Oikawa said. “Sometimes, someone real important will put in a request and will give us a little bonus in thanks. Like the owner of the Capital City Concert Hall. He gave the department tickets to the performance tonight. So, it’s a perfect excuse for you to try out your new uniform and see one of the beautiful things Capital City has to offer.”

“Beautiful things,” Keiji repeated softly, trying to remember if he’d ever been to something, anything at all like a concert hall. Buildings back home weren’t nearly as big and grand as they were here.

“Yes,” Oikawa said, looking up. “It’s like the city is coming back to life. Ever since the war ended, you can see these little signs—like music.” He turned a genuine smile Keiji’s way. “It will be a lot of fun, Keiji-chan.”

Keiji couldn’t help but return that smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Keiji had never seen a full orchestra before. He’d heard of them, of course, but they only existed in big cities. The most he’d seen were ragtag groups thrown together to celebrate holidays during festivals. They were fun, lively, not very cohesive, but they always lifted the mood and made the celebration all the brighter.

At one point, he’d even thought he might play the piano in some far-off future. There’d been an instructor in town that gave lessons and he’d taken them up until the day he left.

But any dreams like that now were better off forgotten.

_What did you want to be when you grew up?_

Kuroo had once asked him that once after dinner not long after they’d met.

_Or…what do you want to do after this?_

He’d asked the follow-up question quickly, as if they were one in the same. As if the entire war didn’t completely throw any childhood dreams out the window. As if there was ever a guarantee of returning home.

Keiji remembered knowing the answer the second the words were out of Kuroo’s mouth. He wanted to play piano. He had even shared that dream a long time ago, but the likelihood of it ever coming to pass was…unlikely.

At the time, he’d simply told himself he just needed to grow up and accept reality. He never knew just how hard the future’s reality would be to grasp, and with hands that weren’t his own.

_I couldn’t think of anything. Why do you think I’m here?_

To be fair, Kuroo hadn’t answered the question either.

And yet, Keiji found himself standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the glimmering building, suffocating in his new uniform but cautiously optimistic. The other Birds were by his side, dressed in their work clothes, too, but somehow, standing outside of such an event, Keiji couldn’t help the slight thrill that traveled up his spine. He felt as though he had snuck into some rich aristocrat’s life and might be found out at any minute.

He was just finishing up his greetings with Sugawara and Kageyama as Oikawa and Miya were off to the side, taking their time joining them. Their conversation was full of heated whispers and it was impossible not to over hear the end of it as they neared.

“Is it at all possible for you to learn to keep your mouth shut, ‘Tsumu?” Oikawa hissed. “ _All_ you have to do is say nothing. Just smile and nod. Maybe say _thank you_. I don’t know—it can’t be that hard to keep garbage from falling out of your mouth.”

“Tch. It’s not my fault—”

“It doesn’t matter! It does not matter.”

“Our jobs would be _so_ much easier though!”

“It’s literally our job to untangle all of that for the letter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji saw Oikawa place a hand over his face. Sugawara had started up a loud conversation with Kageyama, pointedly not listening in.

“Look,” Oikawa continued, “just—do better, or else I’ll restrict you to filing paperwork.”

Miya crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. “Whatever. You don’t have enough of us to take me off writin’ entirely.” His eyes found Keiji and narrowed. “What’re you lookin’ at? Yer more likely to be on paperwork than me.”

“Now, now,” Sugawara said, stepping in, hands raised. “We’re having a night out to enjoy ourselves, _not_ to talk about work.” His eyes shot over to Oikawa, who looked properly chastised for the first time since Keiji had met him. Miya wasn’t paying attention though.

“Whatever,” he seethed again and stormed off up the stairs.

Sugawara gave Oikawa another look. Oikawa threw his hands up in frustration.

“What? He can’t be saying shit to clients,” he said. “If our reputation plummets, it’ll be his fault.”

Sugawara carefully looked between Oikawa and where Miya was already steps ahead of them. “Time and place,” was all he murmured before plucking two tickets out of Oikawa’s hands. “I’ll make sure he gets in alright.”

Setting his hands on his hips, Oikawa let out a sigh. “What am I going to do with you lot.”

“Miya-san’s letters are well-received,” Kageyama said as the three of them started up the stairs at a slower pace. “He always meets the clients’ expectations.”

“Yes, you’re all fabulous writers. Otherwise, I’m not sure I could keep you around. And that includes you, Tobio-chan.” He raised a finger to point at Kageyama. “The only other person I get complaints about is you.”

Kageyama blinked at him. “I don’t have an attitude problem like Miya-san.”

Oikawa sighed again, arm drooping. “No, but you do come off that way.” He cocked his head toward Keiji. “Normally, we are all a little bit more put together than this.”

“I don’t mine,” Keiji said. “I’m just happy to be part of the team.”

“It’s honestly a relief to have you, Keiji-chan. The last thing I need is another hothead causing problems.”

Keiji smiled pleasantly, but he figured Oikawa was just as much at the root of the problems as anyone else in the department. As responsible as he was being the one in charge and keeping them all together, he’d already proven his quick teasing was just as likely to fan the flames than to put them out.

It wasn’t that Keiji minded. Compared to the military, this was all like a controlled chaotic mess. A bit like being by Kuroo’s side for four years. As much as it had been a headache, it might have been the one tether of normalcy in the flood of awful and terrible experiences that rose and fell like waves, leaving them all numb when they receded.

Things could be worse. After all, all the teasing, the laughing, even the fighting and resentment, it at least meant the Birds could still feel after the war.

And Keiji hoped that tether was still there to pull him out of those dark memories. Because though everything he touched rang like a dull vibration—numb hands, numb arms—but at least the rest of him could still feel something, too.

The concert hall was the fanciest building he’d ever been in. The grand entrance and lobby scaled up two stories. Above them, he could see people leaning over the railings, chatting or smoking before the show started. Directly overhead, a magnificent chandelier hung, made of glass and gold and fire, and it lit up the entire room. Pillars lined the walls. The floor was made of marble and a long red rug ran from the entrance to the large doors that were open to the stage and seating beyond.

They were surrounded by the crowd the moment they entered and were ushered forward, following the flow. Keiji nearly tripped trying to keep up with Oikawa and the others.

A hand braced against his back a second before it was gone.

“Yer gonna tip over if you keep lookin’ up like that.”

Keiji turned his head to find Miya next to him.

“First time in a place like this?” he continued. “Ya must be from a pretty small town.”

“We didn’t have anything like this back home,” Keiji said. “I’ve seen a few shows while I was in the army. If we had a night off, sometimes the city would rent out its theater to the military for a show, but they were small, and we had to draw lots to see who would go.”

“Nothin’ beats this place at night, so nobody’ll blame ya for being overwhelmed.”

“Have you traveled a lot before coming here, Miya-san?” Keiji asked.

Miya shot him a look. “Nah, I’m from Hyogo,” he said with a shrug.

Keiji knew Hyogo. It wasn’t too far from his own village, northwest, close to the border, known for its agriculture He opened his mouth to say this to Miya, but he kept talking.

“Haven’t been anywhere else, but this is the capital of the entire country. That means it’s the best.” He smirked at Keiji. “Best entertainment, best food, and the best Birds, of course.”

“It was also far away from any heavy battles, so it survived the worst of the war,” Keiji said. “It makes sense it’s thriving quickly after. Other places won’t see an entertainment industry like this for a long time yet.”

Miya sniffed. “Yeah, well, nothin’ good comes from dwellin’ on the negative. C’mon.”

They caught up to the others who were already showing their tickets. Kageyama passed one back to Keiji.

“Oh, by the way, Miya-san, I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” Keiji said. He couldn’t help tipping his head back again as they walked into the auditorium to find their seats.

“Huh? I mean, whatever.” Miya rubbed the back of his neck. “An’ call me Atsumu, will ya? Everyone but Tobio-kun does and that’s because he’s a petulant child that doesn’t realize he’s bein’ petulant.”

Inside the auditorium, they went up a set of stairs until they were on the second floor, at level with the balconies that ran along either side up to the stage. They were pretty far away, but it was still a good view, especially for free tickets. And with music, you didn’t need a view, so long as you could hear it.

“Hmm, not bad, not bad,” Miya hummed, looking around until his eyes traveled up.

Keiji followed his gaze but didn’t see anything besides the ornately sculptured ceiling.

The group found their seats and Keiji couldn’t resist the urge to run his hands over the plush cushions, if only to see the way the red velvet moved under his gloved fingers. He wished he could feel it, but this wasn’t exactly a place to be pressing his face against his seat. He imagined it to be the softest thing he’d ever touched and would never get the chance to.

The seats gradually filled around them. The lights above flickered twice. Sugawara and Oikawa passed a program back and forth while Miya leaned over Keiji, fighting to get a look as well.

Everything was so much bigger in the city, Keiji was already well aware of that. But even with the nighttime entertainment, there were so many people. So many people who could dress up and go out for a night with no worries. It was one thing to know that places like Capital City were slowly chugging forward again, but it was another thing to see it, to realize that it was as if there was no war to begin with. To know that there were places that would never be the same again. For them, there was no normalcy to return to. For them, it was better to just erase their names off a map.

The lights flickered again, but this time when they dimmed, they stayed dark. Only the stage lights continued to shine against the thick curtains.

Then, they opened.

The rows of seats were filled on stage, lights glittering off instruments. Polite applause filled the auditorium, continuing as the conductor stepped out from the wings.

Keiji clapped along, too. Once, twice, before his hands fell back into his lap. He squinted down at them through the darkness. It all felt too fake. The dull, muffled sound of the leather, the detached feeling he still got whenever his prosthetics held or did anything.

But then, the applause faded and there was silence.

The conductor raised his baton and the show started. It started with the quiet, drawn out note of a single violin. Nevertheless, it was crisp and strong, and it _ached_. Like the breath had been punched out of Keiji’s chest.

The other instruments joined in and the music began to swell and take off. The conductor moved languidly with his motions and Keiji could barely look directly at the stage.

It wasn’t just that he hadn’t heard music in longer than he could think to pin down a memory, it was like a gentle breath to the flame of an emotion that he couldn’t name but recognized all the same. He recognized it because it was the same one that continued to rise in his throat since waking up back in June. The same one he shoved down because if it wasn’t helping him recover, then there was no room for it. If all it was going to do was take him back, then he had to abandon it.

So then, why was this music making him feel this way now?

The strong scent of leather hit him, and he realized he’d pressed a hand over his mouth, thumb digging into his cheek, pinky curled under his jaw. Thinking of the pen so easily snapped between his fingers, Keiji relaxed his grip but didn’t removed his hand. There was that pressure in his throat again and he was afraid what sound might escape his lips with nothing to hold it back.

After growing to a volume that filled his ears, drums that made his heart pound and squeeze his eyes shut—not sure if he wanted to block it out or pin his focus to nothing else—it all dropped away. Echoes, followed by just a beat of silence, like an intake of breath for the entire audience.

Then, the silence was replaced with a trickling down of piano notes that felt like raindrops. They started slow, like the pianist had to physically push them out and gradually picked up speed, growing louder as the rest of the orchestra joined in underneath, but the piano was impossible to drown out.

And Keiji opened his eyes.

Their seats were pretty far back. It was hard to make out any clear faces even if they all sat under the spotlight. Plus, there were many musicians crowded onto that stage in their rows. The only one who really sat apart on the left side of the stage, was the pianist.

At that distance, Keiji was unable to tell for sure.

He got to his feet and squeezed out of the aisle, ignoring Miya’s whispered, “Where’re ya goin’?” His heart was beating too loudly in his ears.

He hurried down the side stairwell until he was standing in the grand doorway to the auditorium, the large doors closed at his back. He could see better here, but he couldn’t breathe. It was just—he knew that hair, that hunched form over the piano, the way those fingers moved over the keys—Keiji knew that face, even if he couldn’t quite see it from the back of the auditorium.

Bokuto was alive, and he was in Capital City. Bokuto hadn’t been there when the bombs had destroyed their village, the ones that had killed Keiji’s parents and however many neighbors and friends he’d once known.

Bokuto was here, just out of reach, but on a grand stage like he’d always dreamed when they were kids. He was here, playing music that was breaking Keiji’s heart. He was here, exactly where he always wanted to be and Keiji was—

Keiji was running away.

He was squinting in the too-bright lobby, shoes clacking against the marble, retreating back through the grand entrance.

It was—he just—relief, frustration, regret, happiness, so much pain—it was all tearing his chest apart.

Bokuto was a beautiful star, grown up after these years, where Keiji still felt like the scared kid who had left home because he felt he had no other choice. How could he face Bokuto even more broken than he had been at the start?

How could he hope to give him anything with hands that couldn’t feel, an entire being that felt numb to the core?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I think it's been a while since I've been able to do three chapters of fic in three weeks. I'm looking forward to continuing this fic and working with these characters.
> 
> And thank you for the comments and kudos! And I'm so touched for the art that was done for this fic.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://silentmarco.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

The night hadn’t gone exactly as Tooru had planned. He hadn’t wanted his talk with Miya to turn into such a lecture, but then, Miya made it so easy to argue with, and Tooru couldn’t resist biting back. And had it been the best choice to invite Akaashi out after he’d only been in the city a few days? Tooru had thought it’d be fine, but Akaashi walking out in the middle of the show said otherwise.

Was it the loud noises? The amount of people closing in around them? Tooru only had privilege to think these thoughts after the fact. He thought of Iwaizumi, who was perfectly content with staying home alone, who’d rather avoid crowded cafés and restaurants.

And Tooru knew it was something he’d never understand, though that didn’t keep him from wracking his brain to come up with something he could’ve done for a better outcome as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. The Concert Hall was quiet now, most of its guests had moved outside or had found more lively places to conjugate.

Tooru, on the other hand, still had a job to do. He’d already sent Suga, Miya, and Kageyama off to enjoy the rest of their night, though hopefully that meant home. They all still had work in the morning.

He hoped Akaashi had found his way home, too.

The third floor was dark and dusty. Only two of the hall lamps on either side of one door were lit. It was the only space so frequently used all the way up here, and Tooru had visited it frequently since he started his work with the Birds. He knocked twice before stepping inside.

“Ah! Oikawa, I was expecting you.” But the man visibly jumped at the sight of Tooru. He quickly righted himself, adjusting his glasses.

Tooru offered him a bow, pretending not to notice. “It’s a pleasure as always, Takeda-san,” he said, straightening. “The show was incredible, thank you for the tickets. It’s no surprise that yours is the best place for an evening out.”

Though the room was dim, Takeda’s face still heated up as he waved off the praise. “Please, you and Ukai-san are always buttering me up.”

“Now, why would we need to butter you up?” he asked, dropping the act with a smile and taking the seat in front of Takeda’s desk. “Ukai-san said you paid upfront.”

Not only did Takeda frequent the Bird in Hand with his letter requests and gift tickets to the staff, but he had been a key sponsor in the starting days. Or at least, his family had. Like Ukai, he had inherited the Concert Hall from his family, but they’d had the business for generations, way back to when it was just a one-story little thing with a wooden stage.

Clearly, Tooru hadn’t been around back then to see it, but he’d worked with Takeda enough to hear the stories of the old building.

“Yes, and I’m ready whenever you are,” Takeda said as Tooru unpacked his typewriter. “Do you need anything? Typing paper? Ink? Something to drink?”

But Tooru was already shaking his head. “I’m set and ready to go.” He fed the paper into the machine. “Now, is this to our usual recipient?”

“It is, and I know I’m going to sound like a broken record, but it’s my job to keep reaching out to him.”

“You’re a smart man, Takeda-san, so forgive me if I’m not sure why you keep needing our services,” Tooru said lightly.

“Oh, I’m no good at this kind of stuff,” Takeda said with a blush. “I second-guess my words or write more than I mean too—it’s just nice having another person to work through the phrasings of things with.”

Tooru placed his hands on the keys. “Then, I’m happy to keep being of service. Ready to begin?”

Takeda nodded. “I’d like to tell him that the shows have so far been successful. Full houses, the orchestra continues to perform excellently.”

_The shows have been successful this season. Your music draws crowds enough to fill the hall, and I doubt there is one heart that isn’t moved by the end. Even the musicians’ passion is upheld as they play your work through time and time again._

“I need an update on his progress with the next orchestra movement. We have other options for the fall season, but he and I have spoken on this plenty of times before, as you’re aware. If he has something ready, I’d like to move forward with it. If he could send me a draft or something we could try out with the orchestra during practice, I’d like to do that before the end of August.”

_Regarding your progress with your new composition, are you ready to move forward with the next steps? We at the Concert Hall are ready for a full autumn season full of different shows and events, but like you and I have agreed upon, we would like to showcase your talents._

_At your earliest convenience, please send a recent draft. The orchestra is eager to prepare for next season and, that way, we can get a sense of how the music works and there will be plenty of time for feedback. I would like to begin those preparations by the end of August if possible._

Tooru looked up knowingly, raising a brow.

Takeda gave him a regretful smile. “And please tell him that, as always, our doors our open. We would very much like for him to join us for practices. The orchestra would love to hear what the composure has to say in person. They continue to play as written, like he always says, but direct feedback would be helpful. Oh, and there’s always a seat reserved for him at the shows. I can have it wherever he prefers if he gives me a heads up.”

“Aren’t geniuses awful?” Tooru said as he continued his typing. “They act like it is such a burden to sink to the level of normal folks like us.”

“Aw, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Takeda said, laughing as he ran a hand through his short curls. “For as many letters as I send him, he’s one of the easiest composers to work with. Even his drafts are nearly perfect on the first try.”

Tooru snorted softly through his nose. Who was he to argue with a client?

Instead, he pulled the completed letter from the typewriter and slid it across Takeda’s desk. “Have a look,” he said. “If this copy is good, I left space at the bottom for your signature.”

“As good as always,” Takeda said, eyes scanning back and forth before he reached for a pen.

“Anything else you’d like typed up while I’m here?” Tooru asked. “Maybe a message to Ukai-san?”

But Takeda shook his head with a laugh. “No, no, this is more than enough.” Getting to his feet, he handed the letter back to Tooru, who began packing it away along with his typewriter. “Sorry for having you come out this way and for the late hour,” he continued with a short bow.

Tooru held up a hand. “Not at all. We Birds will travel as far as you wish to write your letter—no matter the time of day—and I’ll see that it’s delivered.”

“Hah, that is the thing you guys say.”

“Have a good night, and I’ll see you at your next request, Takeda-san.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be sooner rather than later. Give my regards to Ukai-san.”

With one last wave over his shoulder, Tooru headed out of the office and back downstairs. The lobby was deserted and most of the lights had been put out. Even the crowd outside had dispersed.

At the top of the stairs outside, he took a minute to crack his back. It had been a long day, one of the longer ones in a week of never-ending long days.

Iwaizumi would probably be pissed at him, but in all fairness, Tooru had told him he’d be out late, if just to make sure he didn’t worry. A worried Iwaizumi was more troublesome and usually led to a pissed off Iwaizumi, and that mood typically meant no dinner.

Tooru was already pushing his luck.

His hunger won out over his pride by the time he made it back to the apartments. He didn’t even bother unlocking his door or dropping off his typewriter case before turning right to Iwaizumi’s door across the hall.

It only took three knocks for it to swing open.

“Aww, were you waiting up for me, Iwa-chan? I was afraid I’d have to wake you.”

“You had yourself a busy day,” Iwaizumi said dryly, already walking away from the door. “Was the show good at least?”

“You’d know if you ever went to one.” Tooru stepped inside, setting his case by the door.

Iwaizumi plopped onto his couch. “I’d know if you ever bothered to invite me.”

Tooru opened his mouth but paused. “You—ah—mm, I really should remember to ask for an extra ticket next time.”

“I’m kidding,” Iwaizumi said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care either way.” He caught Tooru glancing around the room. “Geez, dinner’s on the stove and sit down, would you? You’re making me anxious.”

Clapping his hands together, Tooru grinned before scurrying off to the kitchen. “Yay! You shouldn’t have, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re right,” Iwaizumi huffed, but Tooru pretended not to hear. Instead, he made himself a plate of curry before returning to the couch, sitting on the opposite end and stretching his legs out until his feet pushed up against Iwaizumi’s thigh. It was his good leg—Tooru had doublechecked—and he relaxed and started filling his stomach.

“You really need to learn how to cook,” Iwaizumi grumbled, and between bites, Tooru stuck his tongue out at him. “So, how’s the new guy doing?”

“Who, Akaashi? He has potential,” Tooru said, shrugging. He’d told Iwaizumi about their new Bird the other day but not much else. “He just came back from the war, you know.”

“Oh really,” Iwaizumi said, and Tooru could tell he was feigning disinterest. “I don’t recognize the name, if that’s gonna be your follow-up question.”

Tooru slouched further in his seat. “I think I pushed him too hard tonight.”

“Yeah. You tend to do that.”

Scoffing, Tooru leaned forward to jab him in the arm. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say, Iwa-chan! You’re supposed to say _Oh, I’m sure you’re doing your best_ or _You’re being too hard on yourself_.”

“Is that supposed to be your impression of me?”

“Tch.” Tooru fell back against the arm of the couch again. “He lost both his arms in the war.”

Iwaizumi blinked at him. “Then how does he—”

“Type?” Tooru finished for him. “He has these fancy prosthetics. I bet he’ll be typing faster than Tobio-chan after he gets some practice in.”

“Ah, that explains why you’re acting like this.”

Tooru frowned. “Like what?”

“Well, you’re never this self-conscious—”

“I am not self-conscious.”

“—and your superiority complex—”

Tooru shoved him with his foot. “And I don’t have a superiority complex!”

Iwaizumi looked over at him and laughed. Tooru could feel the flare of his defensive anger melting away at once.

“Hey, stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Then stop disagreeing with everything I say.”

Tooru opened his mouth, but to his frustration, nothing came out.

Iwaizumi knocked his fist gently against Tooru’s ankle. “I was kidding. You’re just worried you’ll push him too hard, right? Because not everyone has your—“ he waved his hand in Tooru’s direction “—stubbornness?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, plate balanced in his lap, Tooru looked away. “There are a thousand better ways you could’ve said that, Iwa-chan.” He hated talking about the war with Iwaizumi. Even if they weren’t directly talking about him, it always felt like they were. Tooru couldn’t help that it always felt like they were talking about Iwaizumi and his bad knee in subtext, but maybe it was just him. “Alright, so how do I know if I push him too hard?”

“Uh, he’ll tell you?” Iwaizumi said. “Everyone else does. I tell you to shove it all the time.”

Gritting his teeth, Tooru forced himself not to rise to the bait. “But what if _he_ doesn’t know his own limits?” Tooru asked. “What if he breaks?”

Iwaizumi turned on the couch so his good leg folded up on the cushion, cradling both of Tooru’s feet. His hands settled on Tooru’s shins and Tooru couldn’t help the blush that rose to his cheeks. It was probably time for him to go.

“Then he has to make mistakes and learn his own limits,” Iwaizumi said. “If he breaks, then he has to learn to put himself back together again. It’s no difference than anyone else.”

* * *

Keiji had found some small alleyway to spend his evening. It was dark and quiet and out of the way. Nobody would notice him. There was an iron fire escape that stretched up the side of the Concert Hall that seemed rarely used. Keiji had seated himself on the lower steps and settled in to wait.

Waiting for what? He didn’t know. Maybe for Oikawa and the rest of the Birds to walk out so he could apologize for leaving so abruptly. Or maybe he was just waiting for the crowd to disperse after the show before heading home. He was like a stranger in these new clothes, so the fewer people who saw him in them, the less he felt like an imposter.

Mostly he was just waiting for something to move his feet forward and take him back to the Bird in Hand, where he would try to sleep for the night before starting this all again.

He’d been so optimistic last night, thinking things were changing, new job, new home, but now he was more confused than ever.

Keiji hadn’t prepared himself for what he would say if he ever saw Bokuto again. He’d never suspected they might be in the same city. He was too busy convincing himself he wasn’t still in their home village that no longer existed. Keiji couldn’t even get the right words on paper, not even after staring at a blank page all day.

It was all just…overwhelming.

And that was why he had run out of that theater and why he was hiding away in some dark alleyway. He couldn’t face it right now. He needed time, space, something that would calm his heart and put the right words in his mouth. That way, things could go back to normal. Then, he could say something the old Keiji would say and things could carry on like the last four years hadn’t happened.

Sometimes he wished so hard that his body ached, from his head to his toes, all the way down to the fingertips that were no longer there. Sometimes his hands hurt the worst.

And he could no better put words into that wish than he could into a reunion with Bokuto.

Did he wish the war had never happened? Did he wish he had never left home to begin with? Or did he just wish the four years he’d spent away could just be a blip in time? Then he and everyone else could just forget. Surely everything would be better off that way.

Crowd noise rose and fell like ocean waves at the other end of the alley. It glowed brightly from the lamps and the open doors, the light from the Concert Hall spilling out.

Some people left while others stuck around. Keiji listened to the conversations, too distant to properly make out.

One day, if he only stuck with it, he could feel a part of this city, too. A cog in the wheels like the rest of the Birds. He’d know his place, and then maybe he might know the point of it all as well.

The lights eventually dimmed. The front doors shut and some of the lamps were snuffed out. For most people, it was the end to the evening. For others, there were other establishments with the lights still on and ready to welcome then. In any case, the Concert Hall had darkened for the most part and it was quiet again.

Keiji figured most everyone had left, including those that were on stage like the musicians, the conductor, and Bokuto. For them, the time after a show was for celebrating putting together something so beautiful. They would be far away from this dim corner of the city.

So, Keiji pushed himself to his feet, his joints groaning, the sweat dry from where it had formed in the earlier evening’s humidity.

He’d go home. Maybe he’d say a brief hello to Ukai. After all, living in his home meant completely ignoring him would be rude. Then, it’d be time to sleep, because that had been what he was putting off by staying out so late. If he couldn’t watch the show, and there was nothing at home to do, then there was only to kill time by lingering in dark alleys.

Which sounded so shady thinking about it now. Keiji would just have to get better acquainted with the city and with being around other people. That way, the next time he had to run away from something, he’d know where to go.

He paused back in front of the Concert Hall. Even dimly lit, it was a beautiful building at night, whereas during the day, it was just large and missed its warm glow.

A few people were still milling about, but they weren’t apart of crowds or large groups. They were quiet, walking up or down the steps and passing by without a second glance. For them, it was business as usual, maybe cleaning up after the show, or more introverted musicians lingering behind to practice, other cogs that kept the Concert Hall operating, kept the shows playing. A normal flow of things that continued on well after the sun had gone down. Their footsteps were gentle against the stone, heard only because of the silence around them.

It was time to go home.

He glanced once more at the Concert Hall, eyes traveling all the way to the top. He’d be back, if only to watch Bokuto play so he could prepare what he would eventually half to say. Next time, he wouldn’t be so blindsided. Next time, he wouldn’t run away.

A set of footsteps stopped halfway down the stairs. Keiji’s eyes came back down, a slight tilt to his head until he was looking just above his eyelevel.

“Akaashi?”

Keiji opened his mouth, but it had gone completely dry. It was Bokuto but one Keiji barely recognized now that he was up close, an older Bokuto, a brilliant star that was shining his smile down at him. Keiji’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He still wasn’t ready after all this time, and now his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He’d probably just end up running away again.

But then Bokuto flew down the last few steps, crashing his weight in Keiji, arms thrown around his shoulders pressing him close. It was only Keiji’s locked knees that kept them from completely falling to the ground. And Bokuto’s feet hit the pavement hard, bracing them until he nearly lifted Keiji off his feet.

Keiji gasped at all of it, his arms pinned to his sides.

“Bokuto-san—”

“It _is_ you!” Bokuto pulled back, but he was still close enough that his face was all Keiji could see. “I wasn’t sure. I saw you standing down here and I thought, this has to be a dream!”

“It’s not,” Keiji said faintly. “I’m here.”

Bokuto’s hands moved to his shoulders then upward to cup his jaw. Biting his tongue, he allowed it. The touch felt so foreign, like no one had touched him in such a long time. It was light, but Keiji could still feel the sweat on Bokuto’s palms. He realized he was holding his breath. Bokuto’s gaze was piercing, taking in every detail of his face, and Keiji wanted to look away, recalling how he’d already scrutinized every inch of himself that morning.

It was shame closing in around his throat, shame that he couldn’t be more after all these years, not when Bokuto was standing right there, handsome, all grown up, and perfect. Had he gotten taller? His shoulders were broad and filled out his shirt, had they always been like that? Keiji felt so small with him looming over with his head bent.

Bokuto’s thumbs traced his cheekbones, no doubt catching sight of the shadows under Keiji’s eyes, exaggerated in the poor lighting. Then, one thumb moved down, skimming over the scar just under Keiji’s left ear, barely an inch or so long, but Bokuto’s eyes were sharp and taking in every detail they could. Just like Keiji was, and while Bokuto looked like the man Keiji had always imagined he’d become, he had to wonder if he looked like only a stranger to Bokuto. Someone tired and lost and with less to show for themselves since leaving home.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said. His smile trembled and he sniffed wetly. “It’s _so_ good to see you.” His hands moved back to Keiji’s shoulders, then started descending to his upper arms.

And Keiji froze, understanding their intention in that second.

He stepped back, maybe too quickly, but Bokuto’s hands fell away. Keiji gripped his own tightly behind him.

“I missed you, too,” he said, eyes cast down and away. He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. “Bokuto-san—” just…how long had it been since he said that name out loud? “—I didn’t know you were in the city.”

“So you—”

“I was—”

Their words cut off, hesitating at talking over each other.

Keiji cleared his throat. “Um, I was going to write you a letter,” he said. “I just—wasn’t sure where to send it.”

Bokuto stared at him. His smile was gone. In fact, Keiji was pretty sure he hadn’t smiled since he’d stepped back, maybe sooner, as he’d gone over the physical changes to Keiji’s face. Instead, he just looked sad.

“You—I didn’t know what might’ve happened. It’s been months since the war ended. I wasn’t sure if you were still with the army or how to go about finding you either,” Bokuto said.

Something squeezed Keiji’s heart until it hurt. Until he wished it could just be yanked out and save him the trouble.

“I was…recovering,” Keiji said, his grip tightening behind him. Bokuto couldn’t know. Not yet.

 _Just…for this moment, let it look like I returned to him unharmed. Let him think every is okay—_ will be _okay._

“It was the last battle to end the war,” he continued with his best smile, even if it couldn’t compare to the supernova glow of Bokuto’s a minute ago. “We were all a bit banged up, so it took us a while to get home.”

Bokuto thought about this a moment, something he wouldn’t have done when they were kids. He had always been so quick to talk, always itching with something to say. There were times that Keiji wondered if he even listened to anything anyone else said. Then, after a moment, Bokuto held out his arms in a silent question, and Keiji had to bite his lip. How had Bokuto gone and grown up so quickly? He gave a short nod and stepped forward.

Gently this time, Bokuto placed his hands around him like he had the first time, one across his shoulder blades, the other hand moving up to the back of his head. His chin rested heavily on Keiji’s shoulder while Keiji’s head was tilted up to the sky from the angle.

Keiji’s hands twitched as they were once again at his sides. Instinct shouted at him to return the embrace, to stretch his hands out across Bokuto’s back, to cling, and grab fistfuls of his black shirt. To pull him closer and never let go.

But he wouldn’t be able to feel it, and he feared that Bokuto would. He’d feel the hard metal tips of his fingers, the knuckles digging into his back as Keiji held on too tight. And then he would start to understand just how much Keiji was missing, and Keiji would just be another broken thing spat out from the war.

“Lucky,” Bokuto breathed into his shoulder. “I’m so _lucky_.”

And again, Keiji felt the breath punched out of his lungs. Swallowing, he regained composure so his voice wouldn’t wobble. “I told you I’d come home alright.”

Because he had promised, after all. And who was he to soil the magic of promises for Bokuto? Who was he to disappoint him, to say Bokuto was wrong for believing Keiji was strong enough to keep it?

“I’ll have you shadow the Birds today,” Oikawa said once the new day had begun. “There is no one way of doing our jobs, and you’ll see everyone is a bit different. They work to their strengths, but everyone writes letters. It’s what we do.”

Keiji nodded. Everything was a bit calmer with the group at work than it had been the night before. He was still feeling things out, and that included understanding his new coworkers.

“I usually write all of our addresses,” Sugawara told him in the back of the room where they sat at a table. “I’m pretty slow at typing, so unless they need an extra hand or someone requests me specifically, I work on anything that needs a more personal touch.”

Sugawara’s handwriting was beautiful. He showed Keiji how addresses were written out and in what order. Then, he showed him the right way to seal the envelope closed as well as where everything was stored from the wax to the bottles of ink.

“I hope I’m able to put this to use one day,” Keiji said.

“It’s okay if you never do,” Sugawara said with a smile and a laugh. “Oikawa wants you to know every aspect of our jobs, and this is just a small part of it. Besides, it’s usually me back here anyway. Sometimes Atsumu is, too, if Oikawa wants to punish him.”

Keiji was shifted to sit next to Kageyama later in the morning. It was a more secluded section of the office. A young man sat across from them, looking nervous.

Keiji watched as Kageyama took his name and information in a crisp and professional manner. The man was skittish and already intimidated, Keiji could tell as he stuttered answering Kageyama’s questions.

“It’s—it’s a letter to a girl from back home,” he said.

“What do you want to tell her,” Kageyama said, his tone a mix between a question and a demand.

“Well, you see, my parents—they wrote to me. She’s to be engaged.”

“I see.” Kageyama was already typing away.

Keiji tried to pay attention to the words on the page as well as the man speaking.

“So, I wanted to write her a letter.”

“Yes,” Kageyama said flatly. “And what is it you want to say?”

“Well, I—” the man hesitated.

“Is it a congratulations?” Kageyama asked briskly.

“No…”

“Are you reaching out to get back in touch?”

“Not exactly.”

Keiji saw Kageyama’s eyebrow twitch.

“A confession?”

The man’s face colored as he ducked his head. Kageyama typed some more, tore the paper from the machine before inserting a new one. He glanced over at the first page as he started again.

“Er, yes—" he watched Kageyama’s movements with wide eyes “—I want her to know I’ve loved her since we were kids.” He hid his face in his hands. “At one point, I thought she might have felt the same way, but then I came here a year ago and I’m afraid she has forgotten me.”

Kageyama pulled the new letter from the typewriter almost before the man had finished speaking. He held it out. “Here.”

The man looked it over. “Uh—” he cleared his throat “—it could be…smoother? I—I need it to say ‘I love you.’”

Kageyama nodded, accepting it back and loading a third piece of paper. This time, when he started typing, his fingers went off until the sounds of keys clacking blurred into one continuous sound. He didn’t even look down at them, his eyes on the second copy of the letter.

In no time at all, he handed the second version to the man, who nodded as he read it.

“It’s great, I think,” he said. “I think it’ll reach her.”

Kageyama worked quickly, not minding the errors. Apparently, his bluntness with the clients and their feedback gave him better direction as he charged ahead. He learned a lot about a client in a short amount of time with how quickly his questions struck the core of the matter and adapted as he worked, not caring if he offended anyone.

His letters were always successful in the end. By the time the client went to Sugawara to address their letter, they had almost forgotten Kagayama’s first impression.

“I hope I helped with your training, Akaashi-san,” Kageyama said with his usual straight face and with a stiff bow from his seat.

“You can sure learn a lot from Tobio-kun,” Miya said, coming up from behind and slinging an arm over Keiji’s shoulders. “But it’s best not ta imitate him exactly. His approach ain’t exactly flawless.”

Kageyama gritted his teeth, and Keiji remembered him standing up for Miya last night. He wondered if there was a bit of a rivalry in the office.

“Anyway, yer with me now, ‘Kaashi,” he continued.

Keiji blinked over at him and ducked under his arm. “It’s Akaashi.”

Rolling his eyes, Miya gestured to another desk with his head. “I have an appointment comin’ in now.”

A beautiful looking woman already sat on the other side. One look at her dress and styled hair, Keiji knew that the Birds’ services was more of a luxury to her kind than a necessity.

Miya sat down at his typewriter while Keiji took the chair already set up next to him, sitting on the edge to better see what Miya would write.

“Sorry for the wait, miss,” he said, cracking his knuckles before smiling prettily at the woman. “Where would you like to begin?”

Keiji noticed immediately that the swing of Miya’s accent disappeared, replaced with carefully annunciated words and a voice that dripped in charm to match his smile. It seemed fake to Keiji, but it won over the client right away.

“There’s a guy on my street that’s asked to date me. He called it going steady,” she said. “We’ve been talking for some time now, but this is the first time he’s been official about it.”

Miya nodded along, typing a bit but mostly pausing to listen.

“You see, he’s pretty goofy. A little immature. I like him and I have fun with him and all, but—well, there’s another guy I’ve had my eyes on, but he doesn’t seem to notice me. He’s handsome and he has money, but I’ll admit I don’t know him well. Anyway, I don’t want to turn my friend down and have no prospects whatsoever—all of my girlfriends are seeing someone they want to marry. I just—want him to take it as seriously as he did when he first asked me.”

Miya was typing again, faster now. In fact, he was nearly halfway down the page. Keiji leaned in.

_I just want to know you’re serious. I enjoy the time I spend with you. That’s why, if you speak of a future, I want to be part of that and know that you’ll work hard for it, too._

Keiji read Miya’s writing over his shoulder, rephrasing the woman’s circling sentences into something that spoke of requited yearning, but a desire for more. Soft and gentle but straightforward in the way the woman’s wording was not.

Somehow, Miya made sense of it, or put sense into it, not saying a single word as the woman went on.

It was a different approach from Kageyama’s, but then again, it was a different sort of client. Perhaps, after all these months at the Bird in Hand, clients had found their favorite Bird, someone who could make sense of their requests. Or perhaps Oikawa could also be attributed with the organization, as he assigned the jobs unrequested.

The woman’s eyes sparkled as she looked back at Miya after glancing over the letter, and Miya stood and bowed.

“Oh, Atsumu-san, thank you so much. As always, you’re the best,” the woman said.

Keiji saw Miya stiffen in his bow and, across the room, Oikawa cleared his throat. Then, Atsumu straightened, smiling brilliantly.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said. “We look forward to seeing you again.”

Blushing, she offered both of them a slight wave before Sugawara appeared to take her back for her letter to be addressed. Miya plopped in his seat but didn’t truly relax until the woman had left the office. He slouched and groaned.

“Damn women,” he grumbled into his hands. “Why d’they gotta be so chatty all the time?”

“But you do such a good job, ‘Tsumu,” Oikawa said. “Especially when you remember to hold your temper.”

A knock on the door interrupted any comeback Miya was about to make. The door opened and Oikawa got to his feet, grinning at the man who entered.

“Hello, Sawamura-san,” he said. “I was wondering when we might see you again.”

The man was dressed in the black uniform of the peace officers. He removed his cap, his face flushed at whatever Oikawa was insinuating.

“Sorry to come without an appointment,” he said. “Is Sugawara-san available?”

“Of course!” Oikawa chirped. “Suga-san!” But Sugawara was already coming from the back of the room.

“Perfect timing. Yer favorite client is here t’see ya,” Miya murmured out of earshot.

Sugawara smiled sweetly at Sawamura, but Keiji didn’t miss the quick jab to Miya’s side that had him wheezing, the movement out of sight from the front of the office.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Sawamura said.

Sugawara waved his remark off as he approached. “No, Daichi. Of course you aren’t. Come on. We can work in the back so we don’t disturb the others.” As he led Sawamura back to his work area, Sugawara shot a meaning glare over his shoulder. It was already dissolving into a smile he couldn’t help before he turned back.

“Daichi-san shows up here at least once a week,” Kageyama said to Keiji.

“I think he’s the only client that requests Suga-san,” Miya added. “Most people don’t know Suga-san writes, too.”

Keiji chanced a look back at the two of them. They sat together just like the other Birds had with their clients that day, only Sugawara was doing a lot of smiling and laughing into his hand. From Keiji’s perspective, it didn’t seem as much an act as Miya’s had been.

“Why would someone need to write so many letters?” Keiji asked. “Is it for work?”

Miya grinned knowingly at Kageyama, who shrugged. “Uh, ‘cause he’s got a crush?” Miya said.

Keiji frowned. “Seems like a lot of money.”

“Well, he doesn’t want Suga-san to know, o’course,” Miya said. “Honestly, I dunno if even Daichi knows. He’s always in here askin’ Suga-san to write letters to girls, askin’ ‘em out, breakin’ up with ‘em. _Maybe_ some work stuff here and there.”

“I’ve heard his parents want him to get married,” Kageyama said.

“Ooh, wouldja lookit that. Tobio-kun’s been listenin’ in, too!”

Oikawa sighed from his desk. “Oh, would you two please find something to do? Surely there’s some work around here somewhere?”

Miya raised an eyebrow at him.

Oikawa’s façade dropped and he smirked. “I mean, obviously one of you needs to go figure out what they’re talking about.”

Before Miya could spring from his chair, Kageyama was already off. Groaning, Miya plopped back down.

“The Birds certainly write a lot of love letter,” Keiji observed, watching Kageyama wander back without getting too close.

With a sigh, Miya leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “The war’s over, ain’t it? People’ve got nothin’ better t’do than fall in love, I guess.”

Bokuto’s smiling face from last night popped into Keiji’s head, and it wasn’t the first time that day that his thoughts so suddenly wandered in that direction.

“That sounds easier said than done,” he said. “I suppose that’s why it’s so popular to get someone else to write your feelings down for you.”

Keiji would have to see him again. Bokuto knew where he lived and worked. Keiji hadn’t been able to escape last night without giving him that much nor without agreeing on a time to meet up. That promise was one thing that made Keiji so incredibly happy yet so filled with nerves that he was then just as angry over feeling so conflicted.

“What about you, ‘Kaashi?” Miya asked, pulling Keiji back to the conversation. “You’ll be writin’ other people’s love letters soon enough. Ever write one of yer own?”

None that had been sent. None that anyone had read. He shook his head. “Do you think I’d move all the way to the city if had someone to write letters to?”

Miya shrugged. “Dunno. Apparently, love’s tricky like that.”

Keiji offered him a wry smile. “Besides, I barely know anyone out of the office.”

“All perfectly good options, but it’s like they say. The one rule is not to go fallin’ in love. Take me for instance. I just end up breakin’ hearts,” Miya said with a wink.

“Thank you for the advice, and I feel there are plenty of girls who would leap at that chance to have their hearts broken by you, Atsumu-san.”

Sticking his tongue out, Miya pretended to gag.

Keiji wondered if he had somehow found a way to send any of those letters, if last night would have been different. There were countless letters, ones where he never ran out of words to say. There were times when he ran out of paper before he ran out of words. He wondered what might have happened if he’d saved them or managed to get them to Bokuto. That way, they would have been there when he had nothing left to say.

* * *

Atsumu was pretty set in his after-work routine. He left right on the dot at quitting time. Sometimes he was the first one out, but he never let himself feel guilty about that. He made sure he wasn’t working on any big projects leading up to the clock striking the hour, that way he was ready to get out the door.

By the time they left for the day, the lobby downstairs was pretty deserted. Most of the desk workers had already left, and the few left helped any remaining customers with accepting last-minute deliveries. The mail carriers would have to sort through those before they headed out on deliveries in the morning.

Nobody noticed him as he walked past. He didn’t know many outside the writing department other than the mail carriers. That meant he was more likely to run into someone he knew in the mornings. On the other hand, evenings were quiet and led to a quick getaway.

His walk home set the mood for the rest of the evening. For example, if he’d been running around town on home visits, his blisters would put him in a sour mood and, if he wasn’t having one of his existential breakdowns that turned him into an insomniac, then he’d fall asleep early—probably after he broke something in the kitchen.

So far, the evening wasn’t looking too bad. His feet were only pinched, relieved to be free of their fancy prisons the moment he walked through the door. His bag was dropped onto the floor. Maybe he’d go through it later and put it away properly. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Then, Atsumu made himself dinner. If he was in a bad mood, it’d be something cold that would end up pissing him off even further. Tonight, he made rice. He wasn’t an awful cook, no matter what anyone teased. He only burnt the rice a little. He didn’t have the supplies to make anything else to go with it or the energy to spend on it if he had.

Burnt or not, the rice really wasn’t that bad.

So, it was a not bad kind of evening then. He ate on his couch, kicked up his feet. It’d been quite a few not bad days in a row. Atsumu wasn’t really counting Oikawa lecture from last night. Did it keep him up a few extra hours? Sure, but that was mostly because he’d traveled down the thought path of making Oikawa deal with the troublesome girls instead. Unfortunately, that just led to Oikawa fawning over the attention, doing everything piss-perfect as usual.

The loss sleep came from Atsumu imagining punching that stupid, self-satisfied smirk of that pompous ass’s face.

That was also why he had slept so soundly afterward.

So, Atsumu had a bit of a streak going, but it was begging to be broken. He’d never been good at perfect streaks. The expectations for something like that were too heavy.

It was when he was cleaning up dinner and he forgot that he’d hidden that dumb letter in with the dishtowels. And who’s dumbass idea had that been? His, but well—it was hard to blame anyone else when he lived alone. Like when he bought a treat from a nearby café to save for the weekend only to remember he’d eaten it two days ago. Anything he did in this apartment always turned out to be self-sabotage, and he was still working on that.

Apparently, he had a long way to go.

But now, he was sitting up on his counter, water still running into the sink, his bowl still dirty, as he stared down at the envelope. He bit at his thumbnail, trying to decide what he was more pissed off about: that he hadn’t written first or that either of them had written at all.

The familiar handwriting taunted him but offered no answers.

“Yeah, well, fuck you.”

_Yer pathetic._

It was this letter’s fault that he was hearing that voice so clearly again. He used to let it chastise him every second of every day after he moved here. And right when he thought he could shut it up for good, it was back louder than ever. He clenched his teeth until his jaw creaked.

_What d’you think it’ll say? ‘Tsumu, yer sucha disappointment? ‘Tsumu, what would yer parents say? Or maybe, nobody’ll forgive you after this?_

_But don’t lookit me. I won’t know ‘til you do._

Atsumu had half a mind to rip the whole thing in half and pretend it got lost in the mail. After all, postal companies weren’t one hundred percent reliable. Mistakes could happen. Could’ve been picked up by the wind and lost. Could’ve toppled out of the bag and drowned in a passing stream. Could’ve been delivered to someone else. Something like that.

_Lame. Ya really thought you’d be happier there?_

“I’m workin’ on it,” Atsumu growled to himself and shoved off the counter. He headed out of the kitchen, only remembering at the last second to shut off the water.

He should’ve changed out of his clothes before he’d eaten. Now he was stuck in his slacks and his shirt, sleeves rolled back. The vest was one thing that was easy to lose, made him feel less constructed. The bolo tie was next. That, he whipped across the room, not caring where it ended up.

He ended up on the floor at one point. It was his favorite spot when he couldn’t sleep. The letter was still in his hand even though he thought he’d left it in the kitchen.

Atsumu wasn’t sure what time it was. He was too busy imagining different ways to express disappointment, painting over with sarcasm until the words were biting. He wrote letters all day for all sorts of different people. Writing the still unopened one he’d received in his head was easy, easier than opening it. The second he opened it was the second those words became real. He couldn’t just start writing on a new blank page after the last pretend letter had him squeezing his eyes shut so tight that tears brimmed in the corners.

But he wasn’t crying. Obviously. There was nothing to cry about. He was just making himself feel bad.

This letter could shut up the voice permanently. At least he’d know what there was to say.

But no matter how many times he talked himself up to the point of ripping open the envelope, the one second of hesitance always tore him back down.

And he spent the night like that, staring at his cracked and water-stained ceiling he was so familiar with now, writing and rewriting imaginary letters to himself until he wasn’t even sure what he wanted the real letter to say. Until he wasn’t sure if he was doing this to make himself feel better or just to make himself suffer.

A knock came before dawn, just as the sky was just starting to lighten his apartment.

His body felt like dead weight, and he considered just lying there and ignoring whoever was at the door.

But whoever was there was persistent. Eventually, he decided that saving himself a future migraine was preferable to not moving at all. So, Atsumu very slowly pulled himself to his feet.

In the hall, he finally abandoned the letter on the wooden table that came with the place, meant for doing exactly that. Holding letters until they were ready to be opened and read. There was even a silver letter opener that had seen better days. Then again, it hadn’t moved since he’d arrived.

With a sigh, Atsumu pushed his hair back, didn’t look too long at his rumpled clothes, and opened the door.

Surprisingly not surprising, Sakusa was there staring back at him with that unimpressed look to his dark eyes. He almost seemed to be expecting Atsumu’s state of disarray no matter the smile pinned to his face, hoping to distract from any more telling signs.

Somehow, the sight of him allowed Atsumu to relax. It didn’t matter if Sakusa saw him after an insomnia episode or in yesterday’s clothes.

“Omi-kun! What a pleasure it is t’have you stop by. Want some tea?”

“Your mail slot is still rusted,” Sakusa said. He huffed out a breath against his mask. “Not that it matters. Oikawa said I had to personally make sure you read this.” He held out an envelope, and Atsumu recognized Oikawa’s handwriting as he accepted it.

“Aw well, if that’s the case, don’t just stand there, Omi-Omi. Come in. I can get ya somethin’ to drink, ya know, since Oikawa went and made you his errand boy.”

Sakusa’s face pinched, his eyebrows lifted, as he stepped in. He crowded against the wall while Atsumu reached around him to close the door. He hadn’t realized it before, but now that they were both standing in his cramped hall, Atsumu realized just how much space Sakusa took up. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he hunched in on himself, but there was no questioning it, Sakusa was a tall guy. Too bad his face mask and the blue cap on his had made it hard to see his face.

“Maybe I should just throw your mail in the trash,” Sakusa said while Atsumu fiddled with the letter opener, cursing Oikawa and his pretentiousness for sealing something as simple as a note. “You know, since you didn’t even bother opening the other one.”

“That’d be a shame,” Atsumu grumbled down at the letter. “I thought ya liked deliverin’ my mail.”

“You’re on my route. It’s not really a choice.”

“Sure, sure.” Atsumu ripped out Oikawa’s note. It was an address, one on the opposite side of town. Apparently, Atsumu was to go straight there before coming into work instead of crisscrossing back and forth over the city all day. He groaned and crumpled the note against his face with both hands.

“So, I can leave now?” Sakusa said, edging closer to the door. “You got it, you’re literate enough to understand, and you’re not going to just sleep the day away?”

Dropping the letter onto the table, Atsumu puffed out his cheeks indignantly. “That’s so rude, Omi-kun. Not even gonna stay for tea?”

“Your apartment is disgusting.”

It might’ve been Atsumu’s overactive and well warmed-up imagination, but Sakusa sounded close to gagging. The kind where it wasn’t just a joke. And he was looking paler than usual, too. So that was, like, super pale, in Atsumu’s opinion.

Atsumu set his hands on his hips. He knew Sakusa was a germ freak, but honestly, this was an overreaction. His place wasn’t that bad. All he’d seen was the hall. There was nothing to _be_ disgusted with.

“Um, excuse me, my place is pristine.” He cleaned often enough. Besides, he didn’t own enough furniture for it to look cluttered.

“You’re kidding right?” Sakusa had the door open again and was stepping out. “There is dust. Everywhere. It smells like old food, too. Get your act together.”

Atsumu remembered he hadn’t put the extra rice away last night. He almost let his palm slap his forehead, but he restrained himself. Like hell he was going to admit that to Sakusa.

“Alright, so it’s not up to yer standards.” His eyes narrowed at Sakusa. It was early enough and he’d been without sleep long enough that he wasn’t sure if he was being less snappy than usual or overly so. Plus, he was allowed to be as pissy as he wanted. He had a shit day ahead of him and the sun wasn’t even up yet. “I guess we’ll just hafta do tea at yer place next time.” And he slammed the door in Sakusa’s face, unsure if he had just made plans with the guy or ended an argument.

Either way, he felt like putting his fist through the wall because of both the unopened letter staring up at him and Sakusa and his dumb face.

So he’d open the letter later. Whatever. He didn’t have any more time to waste on it today. He needed to get his uniform ready to be seen by someone that mattered and then face the day. If he was going to open that letter, then he’d have to come at it already prepared. Mask secured and covering every inch of him, leaving not one crack exposed. He couldn’t allow it to sneak up on him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've switched my update schedule to Sundays now, but I can't promise weekly updates in the future just because things have gotten a bit busy (actually wasn't sure if this week was going to work out).
> 
> I'm also planning on getting some chapter titles worked out this week as well as a proper draft. That way, maybe in the future than can be more weekly updates.
> 
> I appreciate your patience however it works out. And thank you so much for the kind kudos and comments! ^^
> 
> Have a good week everyone!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://silentmarco.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does include some PTSD and abstract descriptions of violence, which occur in the italicized section.

Bokuto’s house was on the edge of the city—Keiji had to take two different trolleys to get there. He found it nestled in the nicer neighborhoods. Colorful houses sat side-by-side, separated by white fences, laundry flapping in the wind in yards. It was a beautiful day with blue skies, but all Keiji could feel was unease.

He finally found the address attached to a white house, the same shape as the others surrounding it—simple with two stories and nothing like the apartments found in the city. He hesitated knocking, but only because he was unsure what he’d do no matter who answered. Would he cry if he saw Bokuto’s parents again? They would look so out of place here when Keiji clearly remembered them standing in the doorway of their old home—single story, wooden, not sided and definitely not with such a well-manicured lawn as this one with flowers in their neatly sectioned off plots—they’d smile and wave after Bokuto and him as kids and he couldn’t picture them here.

Even worse, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to face Bokuto here despite being invited by him in the first place.

Keiji had thought his little room at the Bird in Hand had really been some progress, but now it felt empty and sad in comparison. And he was only standing at the gate.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he unlatched the gate and stepped inside. He thought back to Kenma’s cottage, but that place had felt lived in, the garden loved as it grew outward and upward to its content.

This looked like a fantasy that kids would tell themselves, convince themselves that this is what they’ll have, only later learn how messy life was. It wasn’t so clear cut as this, and yet, this was what he was walking into. This was Bokuto’s life.

A perfect life.

Was there any space for Keiji to fit into something like that?

It was Bokuto who answered the second he knocked on the bright yellow door. He was instantly full of smiles, hugging Keiji at once and standing right there in the doorway, not letting go. He placed his hands exactly as he had the first time he’d hugged him outside the Concert Hall, like the second time when Keiji had permitted him back into his space. Was he picking up on that? Was Keiji being too obvious?

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Keiji said softly, the helpless feeling of his arms pressed against his sides was making his chest collapse. “I’m not going anywhere.” _I’m not going away again_ , he wanted to say.

“I know,” Bokuto said into his ear before pulling back. His hands stayed on Keiji’s shoulders. “But can you blame me? You were always smarter than me. Give me some time to catch up! This is only the second time we’ve seen each other.”

His laugh was bright and welcoming as he pulled Keiji inside.

_I’m the one who needs to catch up with you_ , Keiji wanted to say until his voice went hoarse, but he didn’t. He allowed Bokuto to show him around the house, smiling and humming in response.

Everything was too clean. It was unlike Bokuto—or unlike what Keiji would have expected of him. He had to keep from outright asking Bokuto who he’d become over these years.

Keiji found himself looking for signs of another person mixed in with this pristine place. There weren’t even signs of Bokuto, but surely there would be something of someone else that made this place so uncharacteristically Bokuto.

That was the only reason, he told himself.

“Sorry my parents aren’t around,” Bokuto said while showing him the sunroom. It was warmer than the rest of the room, and Keiji took a moment to let the magnified sunlight soak into his face. “I’m sure they would’ve loved to see you, but they only visit now. I got them a place out of the city.”

Keiji turned to look at him. “They don’t live with you?”

“Nah, they thought this place was too big. Thought the city was too big.”

So, the place was too big, but he was left to live in it on his own.

“You got them a place?” Keiji asked. “You have to tell me what’s happened to you since I left. I have…no idea—” the realization made him lightheaded, and he reached out to grab the back of a chair “—I’ve been out of the loop for so long.”

“Well, the same goes for you.” But Bokuto’s smile was as big as ever and Keiji wanted to tell him that, no, there was no need to hear about his four years. It was Bokuto that had made something of himself.

Then, Bokuto stepped forward, pulling out the chair Keiji had his hand on, and with a gently hand on his back, guided him into it.

“Here, we can start right now.” He plopped into the one next to him, so close that their knees almost knocked together. His elbows were on the glass table, head cradled between his arms as he stared up at Keiji.

“When did you move away?” left Keiji’s lips before he could wonder if it sounded too much like an accusation. That Bokuto had left the only place Keiji had to go back to, or that Bokuto and his family had left while Keiji’s parents had stayed and died.

But Bokuto didn’t take it that way, because he would never. It was like his smile hadn’t faltered a second since Keiji had arrived. Keiji wasn’t sure if it made him happier than he’d ever been or tired. So tired.

“I think it was a couple months after you left. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere at all, but our piano teacher—remember her—she moved and said if I wanted a career in music, that I should follow her. So, you know my parents have always been easy to convince, we moved, and I went to school here for a year and got a job at the Concert Hall.”

“A good job it looks like.”

“Yeah! I play with the orchestra and I have my own shows, too! And people actually come! I’ve sold out the whole place, can you believe it?”

Keiji smiled. “Of course, I can,” he said softly. “You were always talented.”

“So were you!” Bokuto gushed. “I mean, remember winter solstice? Everyone begged you to perform. You had great tone back then, way more control than I did, too.”

Keiji did remember. He also remembered quite a few duets, sitting together, thigh to thigh just to fit on the piano bench. Too many times it was without any warning and their hands would bump together, but Bokuto would laugh—not his loud boisterous kind, but one trapped behind a grin of clenched teeth so he wouldn’t laugh over the music, a laugh just for Keiji to hear—and they’d keep going.

“But that’s why I wanted you to visit!” Bokuto was suddenly standing and pulling Keiji to his feet, and Keiji was so lost in old memories—ones where Bokuto’s smile was the same and it was always at him—lost enough that he didn’t realize Bokuto had grabbed him by his hands. And now he was pulling him back through the house, one of his hands squeezed around Keiji’s fingers.

By the time Keiji realized, Bokuto had let him go and they were standing in the front room. Tall windows lined the walls, opened so that the curtains blew off the walls and up into the room.

In the middle sat a beautiful grand piano.

Keiji felt all of his insides drop out of him at the sight. Surely this was some kind of dream. It was all too sweet, too perfect. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a little huff.

“Well?” Bokuto asked from beside him, bending around to look at his face. “It was the first thing I bought when I finally had the money, which was probably a bad idea because we technically didn’t even have a house back then.”

Somehow, Keiji broke his eyes away from it to find Bokuto. “Are you going to play something for me, Bokuto-san?” he asked, shamefully remembering how he’d run out of the concert the other night.

But Bokuto shook his head. “Nope. That’s the surprise. You are!”

“I—” The rose-colored world of this dream shattered. Keiji couldn’t play the piano. He hadn’t touched one in four years. Not only that, but what had his hands done in that time? Nothing comparable to creating something beautiful, and he didn’t even have those hands anymore. These hands knew nothing of music.

Bokuto was already pushing him closer to the piano, hands on his shoulders. And then Keiji was sitting there, staring down at the black and white keys as Bokuto pushed back the fallboard.

“There,” he said, grinning, but Keiji couldn’t look away. “Play whatever you like. Or I have sheet music upstairs. I can go find some.” And then Bokuto dashed out of the room.

Keiji raised one hand over the keys. Slowly, he dragged the tips of his gloved fingers over the keys, recalling how smooth they used to feel. His pointer pressed down, so gradual and slow that no noise escaped. Then, he did it again with more intent and the note rang out in the silent, empty room.

He recalled how Miya had told him typing on the typewriter would be easier without his gloves. They restricted his reach and made his typing clumsy, and typing had little to no control required other than hitting the keys in the right order. On the other hand, the piano was temperamental. It required a precise touch. Not only did you have to hit the keys in the right order at the right tempo, but it was the emotion that had to be conveyed through that touch. Otherwise, the piano sounded stiff, and hearts closed off to it.

Keiji knew that tone. It’s how they all started off until they learned that connection.

It was a connection he was all but certain had been severed, if not by the years away and everything these hands had done, then by the lack of hands. Simple as that.

With his gloves on, he couldn’t quite comfortable hit an octave.

So, while Bokuto was out of the room, Keiji slide off one glove. His reach was unhindered, but now he watched how his metal fingers reacted to the keys’ smoothness, which he couldn’t feel for himself.

His vision was tunneling as he focused. He hit familiar chords one at a time. If his fingers were too close to the edge, they slipped right over. In fact, they slipped no matter where he placed them, like feet knocked out from under you on ice.

They slid into the cracks between keys, bumped clumsily against flats, and playing the flats and sharps were another challenge altogether, the keys too slim for his finger to stay secure on the note.

And he was already thinking ahead, because once his thoughts went down such a path, it was hard to get them to stop.

Plain and simple, he could not feel the keys beneath his fingers. As quickly as he used to fly through difficult pieces, relying on the briefest touch to navigate his way to the correct notes, now it was clearly impossible.

Bokuto wanted a song. He probably wanted a reimagined future that they had once dreamed of together, too.

Worse than accepting he could no longer play, he’d have to admit it to Bokuto, and disappointing him was worse than anything Keiji could imagine for himself.

Not only that, but he’d have to show him the proof. Bokuto would push and push and try to find the silver lining unless Keiji broke down exactly why it was an impossibility. _He_ was an impossibility. There might just not be anything he could do like he used to.

He hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating or that his vision had truly tunneled in on only the black and white of the keys until a hand entered his vision. It was slow, as if the movement was making itself known, before the fingers curled gently around his wrist.

It made Keiji’s stomach plummet.

He jerked to his feet so fast that it made his head swim, the piano bench toppled behind him. The hand released him and was gone.

Blinking so his vision could clear, Keiji looked up to see Bokuto hadn’t moved, the fallen piano bench between them. His face wasn’t blank necessarily, but Keiji couldn’t decipher the expression. For the first time, Keiji couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

It felt lonely.

“Sorry,” Keiji said at last. “You startled me.”

“No, it’s my bad. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me come back.”

There was silence, and Keiji didn’t know how to break it, didn’t know what to say. There was no way Bokuto hadn’t seen his hand, so it wasn’t like he could pretend otherwise. He removed his other glove.

“They’re both like that,” he said and set the gloves on the piano. “Do you want a closer look?”

Instead of answering, Bokuto stepped closer and Keiji held his hands out, palms up. Bokuto reached out, but his hands remained hovering below Keiji’s, a breath of distance apart. He brought his face closer, scrunching it up as he inspected the finer details.

Keiji watched. Bokuto’s hands were bigger than his, he noticed, and not just the bulkiness that came from flesh. His fingers were slightly longer, too, and Keiji wanted to cry because that wasn’t how it used to be. He hadn’t realized until that moment, but not only were these hands not his by flesh and bone, they weren’t even the right size.

“Can I touch them?” Bokuto asked, as if his touch could bring pain. It wouldn’t, at least, not in the physical sense he was referring to.

Keiji nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I just won’t be able to feel it.”

At first, Bokuto’s hands rose to cup the back of Keiji’s prosthetics, running his fingers over his knuckles and down toward his wrists. Then, he sandwiched one of Keiji’s hands between his, pressing firmly. Keiji could tell by how his fingers flattened under the gentle pressure.

He wondered if Bokuto noticed how his hands completely swallowed his one.

“So you can’t feel this?”

Keiji thought of what he would’ve been able to feel if Bokuto was really holding his hands, thought back to four years ago—the winter solstice—when he had.

The warmth, slight clamminess, but soft skin. The lines on his palms, traced over by his fingertips. How his hands tingled when Bokuto returned the gesture. How he pressed their hands together between them.

_Hey, hey, that’s totally not fair, ‘Kaashi! I didn’t know your hands were bigger than mine. You know what that means? You’re totally gonna be better at the piano. No fair!_

Carefully, Keiji pulled his hand out from between Bokuto’s.

“No, the nerve connection only allows me to move. Anything else—” he tapped the back of his hand with a finger and grimaced at the tinny sound “—is just metal.”

They were quiet a moment more.

“Will you tell me what happened?” It was the quietest Keiji had heard Bokuto’s voice, but his shoulders raised instinctively at the question.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said, the words stiff on his tongue. “But…people get hurt when there’s fighting. People die. There’s no rhyme or reason. No point. It just happens.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything, and Keiji could tell that his words probably sounded mean, but he didn’t intend for that. But he also couldn’t stop himself.

“So, if you want me to say I made a noble sacrifice, that I saved someone or helped win the fight, I can’t,” he said. “That’s just not the truth.”

And he finally looked at Bokuto’s slack expression, the wariness that was there, and a fracture splintered across Keiji’s chest. Because there was no more protecting Bokuto, not from the world and not from himself.

It was his own fault. Keiji just didn’t know how to be the person Bokuto remembered him as anymore. He couldn’t be the boy smiling in the snow, holding hands, lying on their backs and looking up at the stars, dreaming.

Always dreaming, always smiling. Always a hand reaching out, always a hand to take.

Keiji reached for his gloves and pulled them on, his hands trembling. He was angry that they were still able to tremble.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice stiff. “I really wanted to hear you play something but maybe another time.”

Bokuto blinked at him, but it only took him a second to realize Keiji was retreating to the door. He went after him. “Keiji—”

“Don’t.” His voice was choked as he turned, hands raised cautiously to stop Bokuto from crashing into him again, from calling him that again. “Please.” Because if there was one version of himself he was furthest from, it was one Bokuto called _Keiji_.

_Thunder rolled not overhead but around him in every direction. It vibrated his eardrums, shook his entire body until he was numb with it. He wished he could see something, but there were only brief flashes of light too bright to make anything out, almost like fireworks. The thunder turned into the popping of fireworks, but it all sounded too far away while the flashes were too close, like his head was shoved underwater._

_But then the water cleared out and washed away, and it wasn’t thunder or fireworks but gunfire and explosions lighting up the night. And he was running, feet pounding against the ground, but he couldn’t feel it with the very air around him trembling. The gun rattled in his hands and went off at anything that moved, and he couldn’t feel his hands with their white knuckled grip._

_And there was the shouting. He couldn’t pick out a single word with all the noise. He couldn’t see them._

_Then, two things happened at the same time._

_A flare shot off, cutting through the sound with how close it was, whistling upward and bathing the scene red with its light. It shot overhead like a star. The shouting turned to cheers._

_Metal clinked against stone, a canister. He didn’t get a good look. His vision completely whited out, a delayed boom that he didn’t so much feel in his ears but rather his entire being, until he was only that sound. A crash like a wave that never ebbed. It just built up until it was just ringing, so sharp that it cut right through him._

_And he knew he was falling backward, but now there was only darkness and he was just light. Too bright, just outlines, a single note that felt like it was tearing him apart, heat so strong that he only felt it if he focused in on feeling and his mind was trying to slip away from feeling. Smell of burning, he’d choke if he could do anything but fall._

_He kept falling. It felt like forever for him to hit the ground, but then he realized he was already there._

_His vision cleared in mixed colors like bleeding paint. There was fire and smoke and the night sky beyond. And silence, except for the ringing. Everyone was gone._

_Then, a hand was held out._

_Someone was calling his name, and it sounded like coming home._

_He fought to lift his head, but when he did, he saw a different kind of light. A brightness that didn’t make him flinch or had the capacity to blow him off his feet. It was gentle, barely there. It didn’t even reflect off the stone underfoot or break up the darkness of night. It was just warm._

_It was Bokuto, bending down and offering his hand out. Smiling._

_Smiling like the world around him wasn’t ending, didn’t exist._

_And like a magnet, Akaashi’s hand rose to take Bokuto’s. He didn’t have to think about it because it was second nature._

_But the sight of his own hand made him pause. There was nothing—not nothing but a void, a black hole, something so dark that it made the night lighter in comparison. Only a twitchy white outline could contain it, just static that raced across every inch of skin._

_Despite that, he still had the audacity to reach out for Bokuto’s hand, but before he could reach him, the line snapped. His hand was well and truly disappearing into nothing now. Just shards, sharp edges that were one in the same. Flesh and edge, cutting and being cut. And the loss of it. The heavy, heavy loss of it, while part of him floated away with it._

_The connection—he was losing it._

_And Bokuto was frozen, hand still out. And the gunfire picked up again, like it had never stopped. And Akaashi wasn’t nothing, wasn’t a black hole. He was flesh and bone and real. And he reached out for Bokuto, but there were no hands. Just empty air wrapped around his bicep._

_He bled black, and he felt that nothingness seep in again as life seeped out, and he tried pushing himself to his feet. Anything for Bokuto to reach him, for him to stop smiling and_ see _him—_

Keiji had pushed himself up in bed and was already on his feet before he was even truly awake. It felt like he had either slept for an hour or an entire day and into the next night.

His entire body was shaking even as he paced, but the only part of the dream that really lingered was the burning scent, which was worse than anything else. Even the ringing would have kept the silence from feeling so thick around him.

He left his room, the walls felt too close and he felt too out of his skin. His arms hurt, and he kept them hugged around his body, waiting for it to pass.

Keiji had never ventured to the kitchen in the middle of the night, but none of his other nightmares had left him like this. Not empty exactly but hollowed out all the same. He needed something that would at least make him feel like a human being.

The base of the dream was nothing new. He had woken up before with smoke in his nose and the pounding in his ears. The heat, the falling—he'd dreamed of that all before. 

But Bokuto had been a new addition. It was unsettling to have seen him in such a place. And Akaashi had never disappeared before. Never fell apart. Never became the sound and light that had blown him up. 

It was one thing to imagine disappearing, but it was another thing to feel it happening.

And it had felt so real in the dream.

He opened the door to the kitchen, closing it gently behind him so as not to wake Ukai down the hall. The kitchen was dark, and it was a cloudy night, so the window didn't provide much light, so he realized too late that he wasn't alone.

The figure moved and Akaashi's first instinct was to back away, but he only hit the door at his back, his hands closing on thin air, on what he knew wasn't there.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on."

Then, a match was struck, and the sudden pinprick of light was enough to set Keiji’s teeth on edge after his dream. But now he could clearly see that he wasn't alone and that it was Ukai in the kitchen with him. Not surprising since they were the only two in this monster of a house at this hour.

"Sorry," Ukai said as he lit one of the lights on the walls. He crossed back to his place by the window and snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. "I wasn't expecting anyone else." It didn’t smell like smoke. He must’ve been breathing out the cracked window.

Shrugging one shoulder, Keiji stepped away from the door. That made two of them.

"Can't sleep?" Ukai pressed when he didn't say anything.

Keiji shrugged again and crossed the room. He didn't know what he could say to Ukai to fill this space. It could be that he was still trapped in his own head, not fully awake. He opened a few cabinets, still unsure where Ukai kept everything, before he finally found a glass. He filled it at the sink. Ukai sidestepped out of the way to give him space.

"I don't sleep much," he said when he shut off the tap. He leaned forward against the sink to look out the window. It looked like they'd have fog in the morning. He could see it forming around the lights in the distance, those that remained on through the night.

Ukai crossed his arms, his back to the counter and the window now. "I know how that goes," he said. "If you ever need to talk about it—" he shrugged and looked away "—well, I'm used to running on little sleep."

"Me too." Keiji hesitated, not sure if he wanted to have this conversation with Ukai, his boss and landlord. "Do you actually talk about it?"

Ukai looked up. "Huh?"

"Do you talk about it? Any of it," Keiji asked, his voice flat. "Because everyone keeps saying that, but nobody actually wants to say anything."

Even when it was happening, happening all around them, nobody said anything. They wanted to take the quiet moments and pretend that nothing was going on. Keiji was the same.

_Can we just talk about home? Or anything? Because if I don't, I'll keep seeing it, and I don't want that._

Kuroo was, too.

To his credit, Ukai considered the question, his head propped on a fist as he stared at the opposite wall.

"Yes," he said at last, "and no."

Keiji watched him.

Now, he was looking at the ceiling. "It's hard—to talk about it. It's hard if someone's been through the same things. There's this...mutual understanding. You don't need words. You just—understand. And then, if it's someone who hasn't been through it, there's not enough words in the world for them to understand. But sometimes—in both cases—you just need to get it into words anyway. For their sake but mostly for your own."

Keiji looked down at his hands. "It makes sense, but it's certainly easier to talk about talking."

"Ain't that the truth," Ukai grumbled.

They stood in silence for a bit. Keiji drank his water, which felt alien in his mouth. It made his stomach uneasy the way he could feel it sloshing around inside him. He kept two hands on glass so it wouldn’t slip from his grip. He should think about wearing his gloves to bed.

"One other thing,” Ukai said, causing Keiji to glance up from his water. “I know you don't feel it, but I'm telling this to you because I don't think you've thought it. You're lucky, Akaashi."

Keiji opened his mouth to refute it, but Ukai kept going, waving off his reply.

"No, I'm not saying you're lucky you made it back. I know just as well as any of us that sometimes making it back isn't as lucky as not. What I mean is, you're lucky with your arms."

Keiji looked down again, watching the candlelight flicker off metal. 

"I've seen a lot of people come back way worse off," Ukai continued. "But I haven't seen any prosthetics like those.

"I thought—" Keiji had to clear his throat.

"What? That the army paid for those?" Ukai pointed at his hands. "Sorry to break it to you, but those're some high-tech stuff. I thought you might've come from a nice family, but..."

"Then who?"

Ukai shrugged. "Dunno. Could've been a donor. That sometimes happens." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. You know, sometimes you look for something, anything so you can be grateful, and you have plenty. Sometimes you just need someone else to point it out."

Then, with a nod that was more to himself than to Akaashi, he muttered a goodnight and walked out.

Keiji stayed where he was for a moment longer, alternating between glancing at his hands and out the window. His dream wasn't forgotten, none of it was, but there was just so much to think about. All those thoughts were filling him up from the inside and while it didn't help him feel any closer to sleep, it replaced that empty nothing void that had woken with him.

He poured the rest of the water down the drain and set the cup on a towel to dry. He blew out the light and left the kitchen for his own room. The house was silent again, and he wondered if Ukai would be able to sleep so quickly after or if he was lying awake in bed like Akaashi was about to do.

Because there was too much to think about and he didn't want to risk having another nightmare, not while the first was so fresh in his mind.

He just hoped Ukai at least didn’t think him ungrateful. Keiji could feel as worthless as he wanted, but he couldn’t let those around him know that after they’d given him so much.

Keiji was used to running on little sleep, but the nightmare followed him into the next day, leaving him feeling haunted and followed.

He spent the morning with Sugawara, making copies on the typewriter, and then when they were done, continuing to practice his typing. His fingers still knocked together on the keys and he made too many mistakes even though his speed was barely faster than Suga’s.

“Don’t rush the process,” Oikawa had said when he spotted that Keiji was beginning to get frustrated. “Practice makes perfect.”

But his typing errors weren’t exactly what was causing the bad day.

Part of him remembered the dream and his talk with Ukai while another focused on the way he had left things with Bokuto yesterday. It was all distracting while he was supposed to be working—no, not even working—training to be able to do this job successfully.

Then, Kuroo poked his head in around lunchtime.

“Yo, Akaashi,” he said with a wave from the doorway. “You have lunch yet?”

“I packed something, but I have eaten yet,” Keiji said, looking up from his practice on the typewriter.

“You taking Keiji-chan out for lunch, Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa asked cheerfully from his desk.

For once, his upbeat attitude was beginning to grate on Keiji, especially after he knew Oikawa had been watching him struggle along all morning. It wasn’t fair for someone to be so cheerful, spouting off optimistic one-liners, when the other person clearly wasn’t in the same mood. The other Birds were about the same as usual. Sugawara and Kageyama were quiet, though Miya to be more snappish than usual. Oikawa at least had the good graces to leave him alone. He didn’t do Keiji the same favors.

“If he agrees to come along,” Kuroo teased. “I wouldn’t want him to waste the lunch he packed, especially with how far he must walk to work every day. Must be exhausted. I’m sure he’s sick of the city already.”

Keiji stood, if only to put a stop to Kuroo’s chatter.

“Oh, my thoughts exactly. Keiji-chan, you deserve a nice break,” Oikawa said. “Don’t come back until you’re refreshed.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible with Kuroo-san’s company, but I’ll do my best,” Keiji said, pulling on his gloves.

“Are ya givin’ the rest of us time off for lunch?” Miya called out from where he was working away with a client.

Oikawa put his hands on his hips. “Not when you have a job to do.” He crossed the room and took the young woman’s hands in both of his. “Miss, I’m so sorry for the interruption. If you want to switch Birds, just give me a call. I have some free time to squeeze you in.”

Miya kicked him from under the table. “Don’t steal my customers right in front of me,” he said through gritted teeth, though Keiji heard him put away his accent. “My apologies,” he said stiffly to the woman. “If I don’t keep him on his toes, he’ll just starve us here as we work away.”

Keiji met Kuroo at the door while the woman made some stuttering reply, flushing red under both men’s attentions.

“Let’s get out of here. My head’s pounding,” he muttered, and Kuroo chuckled.

“But of course.” Kuroo laughed louder after the door was closed. “I always forget what a lively bunch you work with.”

“It’s not a typical day if Oikawa-san and Miya-san aren’t at each other’s throats.”

“They seem so similar, but they clash quite spectacularly, huh?”

Keiji rubbed at his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Sometimes being too similar is a bad thing.”

Kuroo reached the bottom of the stairs first and went ahead to hold the door open. He was still in uniform, though he was missing his cap. His hair was even messier than usual, and Keiji guessed that it had been the cap that had helped make the leap from bad to unsightly. Kuroo didn’t seem to care either way.

“Any idea where you wanna eat?” Kuroo asked outside.

Keiji shrugged. “I don’t care, but someplace cheap. I don’t have much left over after groceries.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Kuroo said. “You haven’t had your first job yet.”

“I start next week, training and a job all in one.”

“You leave Monday?”

Keiji nodded as he popped the top button of his shirt. “Yes, gone for a full week.”

“You think you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not concerned with the traveling.”

Kuroo turned to look at him as they walked. “Yeah, but you don’t think you’ll be even a little homesick for this place?”

Keiji looked back. “Why would I?” he asked. “I’ve barely been here a week. We were used to moving all the time during the war. Staying for a night, gone in the morning. Sometimes it was only a few hours.”

It was Kuroo’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve grown attached to the place. Plus, it’s different when you have a home to return to.”

Keiji thought of his empty room upstairs. He’d grown comfortable with it, but he still felt detached from it. He hadn’t given leaving it behind next week a second thought. Compared to Bokuto’s house and Kuroo’s apartment, it was an empty box.

“Is that how you feel about your apartment here or Kenma’s place?” Keiji asked, looking to turn the attention off of him. “Because I’ve seen your place here and it’s not all that special.”

Kuroo frowned. “Okay, rude, and after I let you stay the night.”

“Tell the truth,” Keiji said softly. “It’s really Kenma’s house you’re attached to.”

Kuroo interrupted him, pointing out a café, a little white building wedged between its neighbors, covered in greenery from flowers along the windows to the vines cascading down its walls.

A little bell dinged over the door and a waitress pointed them to an empty table by a window. Keiji had spotted plenty of places like this in the city, which meant you could always find at least one that wasn’t overflowing with customers, nearly empty, like this one.

They sat, and Kuroo ordered tea and sandwiches for both of them. Keiji let him, not hungry enough to voice a preference.

When the waitress was gone, Keiji spoke up again. “I just don’t understand why you bother with all of this when you have something like that.”

Kuroo propped his elbows on the table, not looking so affronted anymore. “You know, I could ask you the same.”

Keiji blinked at him. “I don’t have anything like that.”

“Oh ho, really?” Now, Kuroo leaned back, one arm over his chair, looking smug. “What about your beau from the Concert Hall? I think he counts.”

“Not the same.” Keiji shook his head. “You deliberately choose to stay here when the person you obviously care about is alone and far away.”

“Alone can mean a lot of things,” Kuroo said. “It doesn’t just mean different places. Kenma’s alone. You’re alone. I’m alone. It doesn’t take physical distance to pull that off.”

“He clearly wanted you there when you were trying to drop me off.” Keiji was trying not to think too hard on what Kuroo was saying and what Ukai had said last night as well as imagining Bokuto’s perfectly put-together house that was lonely despite being filled with stuff. “So what, you’re afraid you’ll still feel lonely even when you’re there with him?”

Kuroo didn’t answer right away, and Keiji only realized he’d said the truth after the words were already out there. The truth not only for Kuroo but for him as well.

Their tea arrived, and still they didn’t say anything.

“It doesn’t feel the same,” Keiji said at last. “No, you’re right. I do understand what you mean.”

Kuroo watched him with his sharp eyes, an expression Keiji rarely saw because so often he was putting on some idiotic front.

“So you finally ran into it, too,” Kuroo said, and Keiji hated the finality of it. Of trying to reach out to someone only to find the gap between you farther than you thought possible. Of there never being a way to bridge it.

“I don’t know the right things to say to him,” Keiji admitted. “I try to be the person I used to be, but I don’t think there’s enough of that person left to even try to pretend.”

“That’s why,” Kuroo said. “That’s why I can’t stay at that house. It’s easier to face the silence when you’re actually alone, instead of feeling like a failure when you’re in the same house.”

Their food came then, and Keiji watched as it was set on the table before him. Kuroo gritted his teeth in a smile until the waitress left them.

“Let me save you the trouble, Akaashi. You can try to make them understand, but they won’t. They never will, not the way you and I know. We can all tiptoe around each other forever, but they won’t get it. We’ve crossed a line that they never will, and there’s no going back from that.”

Keiji stared down at his sandwich. Kuroo reached out to poor the tea. His hand barely shook. The bread was cut so precisely and the tea filled the glass teacups so perfectly, it all almost didn’t feel real, just sitting in this place.

And maybe Kuroo was right, but it all felt too easy to believe, too easy to give up.

Keiji looked up at Kuroo. “We can still try. I mean, forever is a long time. We don’t have to spend it all looking backwards.”

“Saying that and doing it are two very different things,” Kuroo said. Instead of angry, he just sounded tired. “But you’re right. Why do you think I keep going back every weekend?”

That was true. Kuroo wasn’t at the point where he could give one hundred percent of himself for most of it to slip through the cracks to be lost, but he hadn’t given up. Which meant Keiji couldn’t either.

“Speaking of,” Kuroo continued, his mouth full, “you’re still coming, right? Kenma was asking.”

Keiji nodded. “Yes, if he doesn’t mind.”

Whether or not Kenma was on the other side of the line Kuroo had described, Keiji wouldn’t mind seeing him again. In fact, he was looking forward to talking with someone who wasn’t a coworker, someone who hadn’t been in the war, someone who didn’t have some kind of expectation for him.

“You should bring Bokuto if he’s free,” Kuroo said, and Keiji nearly spilt his tea into his lap.

“Why?”

“Because,” Kuroo said breezily, but his eyes watched Keiji closely. “If you’re committed to keep trying, no time like the present to try.”

So, Keiji could say that it was his own fault that the three of them had piled into Kuroo’s car that actually wasn’t Kuroo’s car and was a car that he had borrowed from someone who had borrowed it from someone else. Keiji sat in the passenger seat while Bokuto was behind them.

He felt as if he were doing repeated motions, like he was destined to be chartered around by Kuroo to one new place after another. Destined to never truly feel settled.

He had to keep reminding himself that wasn’t the case as he watched the scenery roll past.

For one, he knew where they were going this time, and he knew when they’d be back.

For another—and this was a big one—the car was filled with noise from the time they pulled out until they arrived.

Last time, it had been hours of watching time pass by, something Keiji was still good at doing, especially during sleepless nights and hours between work. But now the car was lively. Kuroo and Bokuto caught on like a house on fire.

“You didn’t grow up in the city, did you, Kuroo?” Bokuto asked. “You don’t seem the type.”

“What, I’m not enough of a pompous ass? Cold and distant?” He laughed. “Nah, I was born here, but my family moved south pretty soon after.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

Kuroo turned his head back, eyes glancing to and from the road. “What, you think you would know it? A country boy like you?”

They had this easy back and forth that Keiji envied. It was something he couldn’t seem to get with anyone these days. It always felt like and start and stop, like an engine you just couldn’t get to turn over.

“Anyway, you wouldn’t know it,” Kuroo continued. “Not like it’s on a map anymore.” He made a soft explosion noise out of the corner of his mouth, and Keiji flinched inwardly.

Bokuto, to his credit, did not back away. “Ours too. And it was small enough that people didn’t know it even when there was a place to know.”

That was something else they did, and Keiji found himself staring at their exchange, not able to look away from it. The two of them could walk right up to the edge of what Keiji deemed too far for pleasant conversation and somehow avoid going over.

Kuroo had always been like that. Keiji had seen him through good and bad days, had seen him come up with something snarky to say even after all the horrors. He cut right through the tension like it didn’t exist.

But Keiji hadn’t seen Bokuto much since coming back, hadn’t seen him through the war. That fake smile he’d recognized on Kuroo’s face he could also see on Bokuto’s. Keiji remembered trying to hide those terrible secrets of the war, but Bokuto had already seen it, even if it hadn’t pierced all the way through his protective bubble. He still had his parents. He hadn’t called their village home for years before it was gone, and Keiji supposed he hadn’t either. Keiji hadn’t called any place home in those four years.

“But now you’re in the capital delivering mail,” Bokuto said with a laugh, like they hadn’t broached the topic of their hometowns’ ashes. “All the mail stuff sounds so calm, but the city can be hectic. It sounds like an odd mix.”

“Hey, it’s the only job I could get,” Kuroo said. “It keeps me moving, which is good, and the city is loud. I couldn’t take living in the country like Kenma.”

Keiji’s hands bunched into fists in his lap. He wished he could feel the strain of his clenched fingers or his nails biting into his palms. It wasn’t fair. This small talk—it wasn’t small talk at all. Did Bokuto even realize what Kuroo admitted in such few words? Was it now a luxury to be trapped in surface-level polite talk and make such heavy confessions simultaneously?

Was that why he and Bokuto had the same trouble talking as Keiji had with just about every else. Keiji felt eroded away under their easy words, things admitted in subtext. Maybe he was so worn away that there were no connections left to make, nothing to hold onto. He couldn’t even fake it with his acquaintance coworkers like Kuroo could now with Bokuto.

“Do you think that’s why you moved here, too, Akaashi?”

Keiji jolted at the question. He glanced back at Bokuto. “I’m not sure,” he started, but stopped. He was almost going to say that he hadn’t had a choice in the manner, but that wasn’t the truth. “Kuroo-san brought me to live with Kenma originally, but I couldn’t sit around and feel like I was doing nothing.”

“Hmm, I guess,” Bokuto hummed lightheartedly. “But you can’t run yourself into the ground all the time. The city is one big distraction, I’ve found, always buzzing all the time, but it’s nice to do nothing every once in a while, too, which is what we’re doing this weekend, right?”

“You’re absolutely correct, Bokuto,” Kuroo said, pulling into the gravel drive in front of Kenma’s cottage. “We’re here to have fun and do nothing.” He turned the car off and stepped out so fast that it left Keiji and Bokuto alone for a moment before they could catch up.

“I think you’ll like it here,” Keiji told him quietly before opening his door.

Bokuto was right behind him. “But you didn’t?” he asked.

Keiji shrugged. “Not enough to stay.”

They followed Kuroo at a slower pace as he went in first to see Kenma. Keiji wondered for the first time if they might be intruding. Kenma only got so much time with Kuroo. Was it unfair of Bokuto and him to take that away from them?

“Too quiet?” Bokuto asked.

“I guess.” Inwardly, Keiji gave himself a shake. He’d told Kuroo the importance of trying and here Bokuto was asking simple questions, giving him the space to answer however he wanted, and he was still putting up these walls. “I was at the nunnery so long recovering that I didn’t realize until Kuroo came to pick me up how suffocating the silence was.”

This he could do at the very least he figured. Bokuto wasn’t asking directly about the war itself, what Keiji had gone through. He wasn’t asking about his hands or dreams Keiji couldn’t have anymore or asking him to think too hard on what he’d lost and what he could never have.

“Is it that different?” Bokuto asked. They were now hesitating in Kenma’s garden. Bokuto crouched to watch a ladybug travel across a leaf. “Coming back? Everyone says it is.”

“Being a soldier isn’t just a job.” Keiji remembered foolishly thinking as such when he left. Back then, it had just been a way for him to make money when he had no other option. “It’s your entire life, every minute of every hour of every day. Sometimes it was kind of nice not having to think, to just do as you’re told, and in-between, we just waited for orders.”

There was a certain resistance they had built up to boredom. Feeling bored became a luxury, and there were times when Keiji would rather be bored sitting out in the pouring rain all day than some of the other days they regrettably had. Maybe that was why he could sit and watch time pass so easily now.

“It’s a weird balance,” he continued. “Quiet is good, but too much of it makes me feel restless, like there are important things to be done and I’m just—not doing them. Luckily I was so exhausted during my recovery or I would’ve gone crazy all those months.”

“But I’m guessing too much noise isn’t good either,” Bokuto finished for him when he didn’t go on.

Keiji thought about the concert, sitting all close together in the dark, drums pounding. The music, while beautiful, had hurt. He thought about a car backfiring in the streets and how it made him pause and only after the fact did he realize the sweat on his brow.

“It’s just—” Keiji’s voice was soft, barely there “—anything not to remember.”

Because, in the silence, his mind drifted back. Overcome by loud noises, his mind replaced them. Those memories were so ingrained in him that they just would not sink away out of sight. So ingrained, that it was all his subconscious could bring to him in dreams. It was always there, just below the surface, waiting for him to let his guard down. And if he wasn’t careful, he might take down anyone close to him as well.

The way he’d woken up the other night—he never wanted anyone to ever have to see that.

“Kenma says dinner is ready,” Kuroo said, swinging the front door open.

Keiji flinched at the suddenness, and Bokuto was back on his feet, animatedly talking with Kuroo again and asking about delivering mail. Keiji followed them into the house. Kenma was standing just inside the doorway, and Keiji wondered if he and Bokuto had given the two enough time alone, but he wondered if any amount of time would be enough for them right now as they were. Because Kuroo was still the man that would leave again at the end of the weekend and Kenma would still stay behind, waiting.

“Welcome back,” Kenma said to him softly while Kuroo and Bokuto loudly headed for the kitchen.

“Thank you for inviting me back, Kozume,” Keiji said. “I hope you don’t mind the extra company this weekend.”

Kenma shook his head so his bangs fell into his eyes. “Anything to keep Kuro entertained. I swear he only comes here to sleep, and I have a good mattress. Are you okay with sharing your room? I only have two.”

“It’s fine,” Keiji said quickly before he could allow himself to think of the ramifications of being trapped in a room alone all night with Bokuto. He couldn’t ask for more from Kenma, not after Kuroo had convinced him to bring Bokuto along.

Dinner was warm, and there was a normalcy to it that Keiji hadn’t felt while taking a meal in a while. He couldn’t quite remember. Somehow, it reminded him both of his army days, when he was constantly surrounded by chatter and never left alone, and of the time before that, when it was a comfort to return home, when there was always someone to have a meal with.

And all of that made Keiji smile. It didn’t matter if he sat quietly by while Kuroo and Bokuto talked, broken up by Kenma’s probing questions that were nearly spoken over but never ignored.

“Is there enough for seconds?” Bokuto asked.

“Seconds? We just started,” Kuroo said, laughing. “Why don’t you give us a minute to catch up?”

Keiji blinked down at his plate. Bokuto flicked his eyes his way before looking back at Kuroo.

“But Akaashi’s on his third helping.”

“I’m on my third,” Keiji admitted under Bokuto’s words.

That made Kuroo laugh harder, and even Kenma cracked a smile.

“Yes, Bokuto,” Kenma said. “Help yourself.”

“Somehow I keep forgetting how much Akaashi can eat. Has he always been like that?” Kuroo asked, turning to Bokuto, who nodded vigorously as he filled his plate a second time. Akaashi tried not to look too self-conscious as he continued eating.

“I used to give him part of my lunch back in school. If I didn’t, his stomach would growl all through afternoon classes. I could hear it one floor away!”

Akaashi smiled fondly at the memories. He and Bokuto had been separated by a year, but that didn’t mean his days back then still hadn’t been full of him. Bokuto popping into his classroom between classes for a quick hello, Bokuto finding him like a magnet whenever he was in the halls, Bokuto eating lunch with him, Bokuto walking with him to school, Bokuto walking him home.

The days of childhood seemed so much easier looking back on them, and it was surprising to see in hindsight just how full they could be of a single person. Just day in and day out of the same people.

Even now, no war to keep Keiji away, and he still only saw Bokuto every few days. And even if he weren’t avoiding him to some degree, maybe he could manage seeing him every day or so but just for an hour at most.

Things were a lot different compared to back then, and it wasn’t just because of the different things they had experience in the past four years.

Time made all things different, no matter what one person saw or didn’t see, what they lost or didn’t lose. Maybe they were destined to end up here like anybody else. Maybe, more than just coming to terms with sharing things he had seen and done, Keiji should understand that it was impossible to reclaim the same friendship of childhood. Something new wasn’t entirely bad.

After all, while this dinner had felt reminiscent of the past, it was simultaneously something he had never done before.

“Bath’s ready for whoever wants to go first,” Kenma said later, coming into the sitting room after the dishes had all been washed and cleared away.

Bokuto and Kuroo were sitting on the carpet, a chessboard between them. Bokuto was doing surprisingly well. It was a close game and they were just about even with the other’s captured pieces. Keiji watched from the armchair.

“Bokuto-san, why don’t you go ahead,” Keiji said. Bokuto was the one true guest this weekend. It only made sense.

He looked up at Keiji. It didn’t seem like he had even heard Kenma. His hair was beginning to wilt after the long day and his eyes seemed tired, blurry. He must’ve been entirely focused on his and Kuroo’s game.

“Sure, Akaashi.” Bokuto smiled and pushed himself to his feet.

Keiji watched him straighten to his full height. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the realization that Bokuto had grown in every aspect from the boy he’d known. He’d still carried the lankiness of boyhood when Keiji had left, though the shadow of who he was now still loomed back then. Keiji had seen it coming and he’d regretted the fact that he wouldn’t get to see how the rest of Bokuto’s life would change him.

Keiji must’ve been tired, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been caught staring. Bokuto’s smile turned bashful and he crossed the room, plucking gently at Keiji’s sleeve.

“Why don’t you come, too?” Bokuto’s face flushed with his lowered voice. He gestured with his head toward Kuroo and Kenma. “We could give them some space, you know?”

Keiji smiled knowingly at Bokuto’s halfhearted attempt, but he was right. Over his shoulder, Kenma had claimed Bokuto’s place and picked up the game. Though they didn’t say anything, Keiji could almost feel the unspoken words vibrating in the air.

“Oh, alright,” he said and let Bokuto pull him out of his seat.

Bokuto’s own smile grew more confident. “It’ll be just like old times.”

Keiji snorted. “Very old times.”

The bathroom was steaming as they entered. Bokuto shucked off his clothes and was the first in the tub. Keiji was slower, not quite hesitant, but Bokuto hadn’t seen more than his hands before.

Bokuto turned to face him, his arms crossed over the edge. His lips were pinched in a pout. “I didn’t mean to be so forward,” he said. “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Keiji shook his head. “I don’t mind this, Bokuto-san. We rarely had private baths in the army.”

Ducking his head, he undid the buttons of his shirt but left it on to take off his pants first. Despite his words, Bokuto was making it hard not to feel embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean that.” Bokuto tilted his head so that his cheek pressed against his arm.

And though neither of them had said it, they both knew what Bokuto meant simply because Keiji still had his shirt on. Just the metal tips of his fingers peeked through the sleeves.

Sighing, Keiji shrugged it off. He stepped forward and took a seat near the bathtub with his back to Bokuto. Picking up the bucket, he dumped it over his head. Then, he took the soap and messaged it into his scalp, chin against his chest as he watched the water swirl down the drain by his feet.

“Do they still hurt?” Bokuto asked quietly.

Keiji sighed through his nose. “No,” he said, head still bowed. His hands paused in his hair. “And yes.”

He heard Bokuto filling the bucket again behind him.

“Rinse?” Bokuto asked, and Keiji nodded.

The warm water washed over his head and shoulders and then again until the water was clear of any soap. As Bokuto set the bucket aside, Keiji straightened in his seat, pushing his hair out of his face. His eyes trailed from his shoulder down to wear the metal prosthetic started. He traced the path from skin to metal with a finger.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore here,” he said to Bokuto, his fingers lingering over the scar that disappeared beneath the prosthetic. It was the same on both sides. His fingers picked up pace and traced down to the inside of the arm. “But, even though it’s gone, it still hurts here sometimes. Like the only thing left behind was the ability to feel pain.”

Bokuto’s arm emerged from the water and reached out, his hand covered both Keiji’s and the place it settled on his arm, clasping over both of them. Keiji looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Keiji watched him say it, thought of what Ukai had said, and he was right. The words weren’t enough. They didn’t make Bokuto magically understand and connect with him the way Keiji wished he would.

But it was better than the choked feeling of staying silent. Maybe it was more that Keiji had said the words at all.

For now, at least, it would have to be enough.

He turned his hand over to squeeze Bokuto’s for just a second before letting go. That was the only small amount of comfort he could give with these hands. If he held on for much longer, he would be reminded that he couldn’t take the same comfort. He wouldn’t feel Bokuto’s warmth or the faint pulse in his wrists or even if he squeezed back.

“You have other scars, too,” Bokuto continued.

Keiji blinked at him. He knew he meant the ones on his back from what must’ve been the fall and impact and burns after the grenade had gone off and taken his arms. The scars on his face that had become faint but still there.

“Yes,” Keiji said, and he stood up to trade places with Bokuto, “but they don’t hurt anymore.”

That was true, but it was also true that some days it felt like they made his entire body numb. That it didn’t matter that they didn’t hurt, he couldn’t feel much anyway.

But he didn’t say this to Bokuto. One admission was enough, and Keiji couldn’t bear to be the cause of Bokuto doing anything but smiling a moment longer. He felt like a plant, desperate for the rays of the sun so that he might grow.

“Tell me about performing,” he said, settling into the warm waters of the bath.

And Bokuto smiled and told him. He told him what it felt like to be up on the stage of a packed theater, not one seat left empty, as he played. Most times it was with the orchestra, but sometimes, on rare evenings, he’d be up there all by himself. He told Keiji of waking up early mornings to practice on stage, and then taking the afternoon to practice more with his teacher, the same one he’d followed to Capital City and away from their doomed village.

Keiji leaned against the tub’s edge and listened, smiling softly. After he’d rinsed Bokuto’s hair, he stood and sat on the side, drying slowly with a towel over his lap. He wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, despite knowing they had the rest of the night together, the rest of the weekend, the rest of however long he wanted. Forever could look just like this, ignoring everything in favor of listening to Bokuto talk, until even Keiji could forget about any pains or numbness or anything else that didn’t fit into this picture-perfect moment.

At one point, Bokuto stopped talking and Keiji looked over at him. “What? is it, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s smile was a little sideways, and water dripped from the tips of his hair and onto his shoulders. “Nothing, just—” he rubbed his nose like he was trying to hide his smile, but that was impossible “—you’re just as pretty as you’ve always been, Keiji. It’s just—good to see you smile again.”

Somehow, Keiji’s face burned even more in the warm room. “Yes, well—we should get dried off,” he stammered and got to his feet. “We’ll catch a cold if we don’t, and the others will want to bathe while the water’s still warm.”

The rest of the night was quiet. It reminded Keiji why he hadn’t wanted to stay here alone with just him and Kenma, but he found it wasn’t so bad with everyone else around. It wasn’t so bad with Bokuto by his side. Being around him was so much easier since the other day when Keiji had run out on him. Keiji wasn’t sure if it was the cottage and being away from the city or something else. It could have just been happenstance. Bokuto hadn’t asked any questions that were too hard to answer, and Keiji was getting better at navigating those tough questions, getting better at telling the truth but not too much of it.

Keiji thought sharing a room and a bed with Bokuto would be similar to their bath, alone in a room together with only their own voices to fill it. Keiji thought Bokuto would ask more questions or find something else to talk about that might cause Keiji to ruin how well everything was going, but he didn’t.

Instead, Bokuto fell asleep almost as soon as the lights were off.

He laid on his side with his back to Keiji, facing the window. Moonlight filtered in and gave his silhouette a shimmery outline. Keiji laid and watched him while he waited for sleep to come to him.

Sleep was never something familiar, like a friend to easily find him and lead him away. He hadn’t expected it to be any easier in this new place and unacquainted bed, but he had hoped that after a long day of travel and talking and worry with Bokuto on his mind, he’d be like Bokuto. Snoring softly, shoulders rising and falling while he peacefully slept the night away.

Keiji turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling, moving carefully so his prosthetics didn’t click together. He was so used to being the only one in the room at night. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to sleep. What if he had another nightmare? With Bokuto so fresh on his mind, it would be too easy for him to slip into his dreams, and Keiji didn’t need any ugly surprises in his unconsciousness like before. He certainly didn’t need to wake Bokuto with his nightmares.

Maybe, if he was lucky, Bokuto would be a heavy sleeper, and Keiji’s gasping and panicked breaths—if that were to happen—wouldn’t disturb him. Then, he’d never have to know.

Keiji flipped over once more, his back to Bokuto. He’d stay this way, so even if he did fall asleep, even if Bokuto was awake while he was not, Keiji could hide his face. He could not betray anything that he wasn’t already prepared to tell Bokuto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much for your patience! Summer is already a hard time for me to work on fics, but I've also been working on a lot of different things and I started going back into work a few days a week, so I'm still trying to adjust my writing workflow.
> 
> I said last chapter I wanted to add chapter titles and I'm still working on that lol but I forgot my notepad with all my ideas jotted down (I'm updating from work and today was just a mess) but the chapter was ready and I wanted to update especially since between today and tomorrow we say goodbye to the Haikyuu manga.
> 
> So, salute to the Haikyuu manga with a chapter full of bokuaka.
> 
> Thank you for all the kind kudos and comments. I hope to post again soon.
> 
> Have a good week, everyone!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://silentmarco.tumblr.com)  
> Feel free to come bug me, especially when I don't update haha


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